


The Other

by TheForgottenSheikah



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Freeform, Language, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForgottenSheikah/pseuds/TheForgottenSheikah
Summary: Quintus Sertorius is known for his cold facade and thirst for vengeance, receiving love from only a slave. Yet there had been another, before the Berber wife and long after, a rarity among the rare.A female Born.!!!!! In process of being rewritten !!!!!





	1. The Beginning of a Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am again with plot bunnies galore! This features four Born OCs of my own creation. If anyone is familiar with my 'Blue Eyed Shadow' fic, you'll recognize two that were mentioned there and will appear (No, Domitilla does not exist in this one). This will follow the 'First Born' episode timeline until the huntress dies then frolic off into my imagination. xD 
> 
> Toot, toot! All aboard the Q train. ;)

"So the uh, professor, mentioned there are more of... whatever you are." Eph opened conversation again, pouring himself the tenth shot of vodka.

Quinlan gave no reply. The small glass of liquid the doctor had set before him remained full.

He wondered how much should be revealed to this untrustworthy mortal. His life was long and full of travel and discoveries. He ran across the sorts of kin that were both human and _strigoi_ ; the Born, as the Ancients and Lumen labels them.

"There were a few," Quinlan murmured. Many faces passed through his minds eye, one profile he lingered a second too long over.

"By 'were' I guess you mean they're all dead?" The doctor summarized, throwing back the alcohol.

"I am the last. Ever since the 19th century none like I have roamed the earth."

Saying it out loud made his pain increase a fraction. He had grown used to be alone but confirming with words just twisted the knife further into his stomach. Being the remainder of his kind was a trembling reality. There was no one to waltz back in his life now and then, checking on him or to offer comfort. Quinlan was utterly alone.

"But there used to be five of you, right? So stated the magical bible of the vampire race." Goodweather frowned at the nearly empty bottle.

"Yes. Hence my name, I was the fifth to be found."

Quintus Sentorius. The title he earned from ascending the gladiator pits. A Roman official that had a morbid intrigue in the dark arts watched as Quinlan easily dispatched man or beast in a matter of seconds. Knowing what he was, the senator had him summoned. Quinlan did not care the reasoning behind it. Humans were a fascinating creature at the time and he wished to learn up close at how truly a mortal acted. He had witnessed greed in the arena, lust for both flesh and bloodshed, and fear. Always fear.

He was given the name by the Roman. The man explained he was the fifth to be conceived by human flesh and the unholy strain. Quinlan already knew this. Twenty years ago, he met another cursed like him. One that followed him to the very ends of the earth if he went.

"Looking at this from a scientific view... those figures don't add up. If all it takes is a pregnant woman to be bitten then shouldn't there have been lots more of you... half- _strigoi_?" Eph paused in calculation, the tiny cup semi forgotten in his grasp.

"There were many accidents that went left un-checked. A regular _strigoi_ can feed on an expecting female and infect her then leave without thinking twice. A few of us were turned in the womb by the Ancients, the originals. We were charged with going out into the world and extinguishing said hiccups."

Quinlan had been sent to destroy many unborn lives and their mothers. After gaining the love of a child, he had been unable to carry out the orders. He lost the nerve and refused the tasks. Eventually the pawn _strigoi_ were kept on a tighter cerebral leash and the incidents never occurred again.

"Mass fetus murder," Eph raised his eyebrows. "Lovely." He drank straight from the source now.

"I found no joy in it." He growled. The doctor did seem to enjoy trying to bait him. Surely the drunken fool was not that stupid to think the action wise.

Ephriam dishearteningly pitched the empty glass into the trash bin. "Take your word for it, bud. One more question," He returned to the rows of various spirits. "Does every Born," He waved his hands about as if the term confused him. "Share the same features or differ?"

"How so?" The muscle of his brow rose.

Eph unscrewed the cap. "Like does one resemble a _strigoi_ more than you or were there some who looked human but with added accessories; the stinger or whatever decoration you got going on there." He pointed at the intricate swirl of inflamed flesh on his throat.

"Ah," Quinlan leaned forward, propping his elbows on the counter. "It varied throughout the line. Depending on their location of heritage was a factor. Azar, he was a Born from Egypt. His skin was a tone dark than mine. Almost like the sand of his home. Thorne, later went by Jack,"

Eph interrupted him. "Jack?" What kind of bloodsucker from that age went around as Jack? Their type always had an affinity for being elaborate.

Quinlan clasped his hands. "He is more popular than us. Thorne became somewhat... creative when purging women of their undead spawn."

Goodweather's eyes widened. "Wait, are we talking about Jack the Ripper?"

The Born shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps. I'd hate to solve that mystery you humans find so enthralling."

The doctor said nothing but took another swig. "Jack the Ripper was a fucking vampire..."

Quinlan smirked a little and continued. "It was the Scandinavian pirates that gave our kind daughters."

Fet and the professor strolled in, the Lumen ever tucked under the old man's arm.

"You mean vikings right?" Fet asked, helping Abraham settle.

"Those who came from the fjords." The professor mumbled and opened the codex to his saved place. "A mighty and proud race of people."

"I watched that show, before this shit." Fet snapped his fingers, fishing for the title in his mins. " **Vikings**! With, uh, I can't remember the guy...They were pretty bad-ass though." He grinned, leaning against the wooden desk the Setrakian piled his research and findings.

"Indeed," Quinlan muttered, claws tracing the rim of the shot glass. "Utterly fearless in battle and took much enjoyment in wars. It was a grand honor to die during combat."

"Although Daveig disagreed. She either was victorious or too stubborn to perish." He looked saddened then. "Until one day Daveig lost the upper hand. She was infected by another Old One, probably my own, and she took own her life while it hers."

A silence rung in the air before Eph shattered it. "That's only four Born, including you. What about the other? You mentioned two females."

Quinlan visibly flinched. The minute action caught the human's gazes. They all waited for the explanation of the half- _strigoi_ , who resembled a marble statue inside and out, and his display of weakness.

"The other... she was a force of nature; completely uncontrollable and unpredictable. She was a drifter, wild and unable to be tamed like the wolves of her homeland. No one knew an exact location to find her or way to establish contact. She seemed to appear when you needed someone the most, like an other worldly guide."

Eph swallowed the burning beverage. "Sounds like a handful. She have a name?"

"There was a tale," The professor spoke, finger tips still at the corner pages. "That floated throughout the Norse ages, nothing like the fables of Odin and his golden son Thor but survived nevertheless. A being that was birthed from a human maid and Dökkálfar, a dark elf,"

"Elves? Like Orlando Bloom?" Fet questioned, making the _fwishing_ noise and motion of releasing an arrow. "Legolas from the Lord of the Rings!"

Eph curled his lip. "What now?"

"I believe it is a famous motion picture trilogy, yes?" Quinlan added, somewhat grateful the conversation turned.

The professor sighed. "Yes, Mr. Fet, like Legolas. But this elf is unlike any of the good willed characters of today's fiction. These creatures of Norse mythology brought mortals sickness and death, taunting them with cures and immortality. No evidence points this race to being _strigoi_ related, until I came across a certain legend." He looked to Quinlan.

"It spoke of a child whose blood was of Dökkálfar and mortal but was rejected by the dark elves and feared amongst humans. For what it consumed, even in the eyes its inhuman kin, was taboo. The half breed offspring drank the blood of mortals to survive." Setrakian wet his lips. "One day it just vanished and the whispers of its existence along with it. Do you know why this is, Mr. Quinlan?"

Quinlan rubbed the pads of his fingers over the smooth flesh of his lips. "I know no dark elf had a hand in her creation. Her ears were tipped like mine, perhaps where the false identification surfaced, but she was like any other Born. Regular human parents but her mother was bitten sometime over the course of pregnancy."

He really did not want to open the lid to these memories; where he kept her buried in the pitchest corner of his mind.

"Okay, the interspecies sex didn't happen." Eph poured yet another tap. "Who was she? What happened to her?"

Fet could see the struggle of the vamp on steroids was having with the topic and he found a little delight in it. He crossed his arms. Maybe there was a human heart underneath all the pasty skin and nasty stinger.

"Ylva," Quinlan whispered her name like a plea. "She was a prisoner much of her early life..." 

* * *

Quintus frowned as he felt the earth begin to shrink back from encroaching waves of the ocean. He never understood this churning in his stomach whenever he was near or crossed any body of water. Yet another mysterious part of his damnation.

Ancharia glanced over her shoulder. "Are you feeling ill?" 

He nodded though loathing to admit it. Weakness he was not fond of for obvious reasons. 

She gave him a comforting smile. "I thought so. The closer you are to the salt waters the more your Strix half will recoil. We shall not terry long." 

The Born growled. Sometimes the huntress annoyed him. She knew more about he than Quintus himself! It was near shy on a year and much had been gained in those months yet so little. A proper name had been acquired, the growls and rattling evolved into words, and the reason of his life exposed. Thus far all the old one had been doing was merely treating him as if he were fully human. 

He would be forever grateful for her beautiful intentions but the half breed wondered when his destiny would truly begin. 

A helping hand was offered to Ancharia when the land began to slope upwards. The hooded pair reached the peak of the long grass hill that overlooked the scenery below. A mighty ship harbored in the sandy banks as fires and tents filled the beaches. 

** Mortals.  **

A small piece of Quintus feared the elder came here to sell him off to these band of humans. Pale blue eyes peeked downwards at his companion. 

"You're afraid I am here to make a profit on you." She didn't crane her neck to look at him. 

He _churred_. "It is all I've known most of existence." 

"Well, I value you above any amount of coin or trade of any sort. Never doubt me, Quintus." Ancharia began to descend towards the camp. "Besides, this trip would be for naught if I sold you." 

"Someone very special is rumored to be here." She whispered. 

Quintus tilt his head to the side, inner eye lids blinking. "Who?" 

The elder turned to face him, a knowing smile lighting her wrinkled face. "Quarta."


	2. The Wolf That Paces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! : D Glad to see people like this. Sorry this is later than I planned. Rewrote this as I didn't like it the first time around lol.
> 
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> Happy Birthday to Mr. RPJ who plays our Quinlan in the TV show!
> 
> (Edited 9/23/16 misspelled my own OC's name...)

Quarta? It meant, the fourth to be born.

He trilled in surprise. Did that name indicate this one was like him? Some many thoughts buzzed in his mind like a hive of wasps, each stinging and pinching as the ideas formed. Did resemble more human than he or was their visage entirely like a Strix? How old were they? Did the monster lurking in the darkness hunt them as well?

The inner questionnaire was interrupted when one of the mortals approached as they breached their perimeter. Quintus felt his muscles coil in anticipation of threats; a habit that yet to calm. Ancharia remained unfazed by the man. Raising her head in confidence, she spoke in a language Quintus had never heard.

"Jeg har reist langt, søker du draugr." 

The man furrowed his brow, his mouth set in a firm line. He became grim. "Det er ingen skapning her, begone." His eyes flickered over to Quintus. "Ta din egen med deg."

Judging by the sneer, Quintus knew the human disliked him and possibly any related to him. He chose to keep silent, for Ancharia's sake.

"Du fornærme en prins og min intelligens." Her tone annoyed and left no room for argument. "Jeg har ører i mange steder. Vis meg den människoätare." 

Gritting his teeth, the mortal bellowed for a comrade. A man dressed in finer furs emerged from the tent made animal hide stained with colours of their clan. These humans were different than the ones Quintus was used to. Their stature was greater in height and broader in width. He, who appeared, had hair like the long grass of his home in beginning during the fall. And green eyes that were dull as if energy were being sapped from him.

Ancharia later told him the man was haunted; unable to shake the ghosts of his decisions or events.

"Who are you?" He asked perfectly in a tongue that Quintus could understand.

"Our names are not of importance. I come offering a solution to your father's plague." Curious faces glanced their way.

The man frowned. "My father is healthy. I do not understand."

"I was not speaking of an illness that ales the body." She inched closer to the foreigner. "I am telling you of the darkness that tarnishes his very soul."

He was unsettled at that. "How do you know of... _that_?"

The huntress smiled at him. "As I informed your guard earlier, I know many things. The tales of an elf that parched it's thirst with cups of crimson. A story of a king that commands a demon to lead his raids."

His complexion grew more and more pale as if the aberration itself she spoke of were forming behind them. The tang of fear in the sweat that ran down the side of his tan face told Quintus he was afraid, nervous. Why?

"I cannot. He will not allow you to take it away, for the good of his soul or not."

Ancharia sighed. "I see. May we at least have an audience with your leader?"

He looked unsure, rubbing the beard on his chin. "My king has retired for the evening-"

"Who disturbs the camp of Esbjorn ?" A tall yet elderly mortal barked from the ship's deck, flanked by armed men. His mane was long and grey, a hood of bear skin cloaked over his back and, one eye scarred shut by a rake of claw.

The Bear King had lived through much.

"I am Ancharia, huntress of secrets and truths." She introduced herself. "I wish to see the secret to your success, O king."

* * *

 

The ship creaked and groaned as it floated in the shallow waters. Quintus could not control the spassing in his limbs. His presence aboard this vessel, though not within the ocean himself, still wrung his insides.

Ancharia threw him an apologetic smile over her shoulder. It didn't help.

"Do the stories not frighten you, wanderer?" The warrior king asked, his tone like the grumble of the animal he was so named after.

Lanterns hung in the cramped hallway; the orange and yellow flames licking at the rooftop, showing them the way. As if he needed the aide in the first place. They walked down the corridors, passing many closed off rooms. Each gave off an odor that he never caught wind of before.

"No, my lord. They have always intrigued me, even at a young age. So much, that I have dedicated my life to search for these creatures." She explained.

Esbjorn led them past a descending staircase that ended in pitch black. Quintus paused as a peculiar scent drifted upwards from the clove of darkness. Blood was the first most notable amid salt water, wood, contents of the crates below, then something quite different.

It was fleeting under the overwhelming smells but lingering and oddly enticing. Pale icy blue eyes glanced at the party, going further and further away. None had noticed his absence; Ancharia most likely did yet said nothing to alert them or call him back. The need to be by her side to protect if necessary wrestled violently with the need to find what allured him so.

The noise of chains scratching and rattling over the floorboards regained his attention. Beneath the sounds of waves hitting the boat's sides, mortal heartbeats and voices, rats scurrying over the beams and ropes, a low and pained hiss caught his ear.

In a flash he was down in the hold, searching for what made the noise.

Maneuvering his body over a maze of crates and barrels, Quintus felt the air below thick with emotions he once harbored daily: rage, humiliation, traces of sorrow and fear. His spine prickled at the sheer weight of the anger that heated the room. Slinking around a large vase, he saw a cage built into the corner. Dried blood surrounded the steel box, claw marks were dug into the panels. If it were not for his heat sensory vision taking over in the darkness, he might have missed the hunched figure in the cell.

They were the source of what he hinted upstairs.

Now that he was closer, Quintus could practically taste the scent on his tongue; sweet, soft, and tempting.

A rumbling growl snapped him out his daze. In an instant the heat signature was at the cage's wall, glaring at him; promising him harm if he drew near.

Quintus found himself at loss for words.

The candle's light illuminated the form enough for him to see what they truly looked like. An ivory skinned creature stood, bald head encased in a device that prevented them to bite, crimson and gold orbs focused entirely on him. The flickering lamp gave off enough for him to distinguish the rise of flesh on their torso. It was a female.

"Ah," He threw his gaze to the floor.

Quintus had seen many women without their robes before, in the traveling show, but this one had their freedom stolen. She was not here to be put on display on her own account.

"I am sorry." His eyes didn't stay locked on the wooden boards for long. They studied the claw tipped feet up her viciously scarred legs, over the filthy deer pelt that covered her thighs to mid stomach that was slightly sunken in.

"I didn't expect..." He looked at her eyes again. The thin inner membrane slid shut, blinking at him. Her head tilt to the side. Could she not interpret his words? These mortals did use a tongue Quintus had yet to hear.

A ghost like touch brushed over his mind. He shuddered. So familiar, like his deceased mother...

 _What are you?_ The voice whispered, so faint but strong. She thrived on the rage boiling inside her.

 _How is it that I can understand you?_ He thought, directing the unspoken words to her.

The female's mismatched eyes narrowed. _We are not like_ them _. Doomed to a finite lifespan, unable to learn._

Her fingers curled and uncurled into bloody fists, watching him like a predator. She was on edge. A narrow pole of shadow arrested his gaze for a moment. Embedded in her shoulder blades were arrows!

The knuckle bones cracked into tight fists. Quintus kept an eye on her hands and face, switching back and forth to be careful.

 _So you are like me then?_ No reply. She just stared.

Approaching her was a mistake. She hissed like an enraged feral cat, palms wide to show off her talons.

He stopped. _I will not hurt you._

 _Every man who comes down here spits me that lie in my face._ The female growled.

That was a poor thing to say, he supposed. Those who captured and caged him spoke the exact promise. Instead they degraded him by strapping a muzzle on him, much like she, taunting with meals then snatching them away. Quintus was always the joke.

_Not a fair choice of words. I apologize._

She snorted at him. _Why are you here? To leer at the flesh of a damned whore? Beat me so you may gloat?_

Thundering footsteps and harsh language burst in their sensitive ears and headed to the under level. She retreated into the shadows with a hiss. Quintus lost the opportunity to refute her horrible allegations when Esbjorn, Halvor, and Ancharia dashed in.

"Få vekk derfra!" The elder king shouted.

Halvor turned to Ancharia. "Did you know he was here?"

"I don't put him on a leash unlike you and your kin." The huntress remarked, smiling at Quintus.

The old man looked haggard now, staring into the cage where she lurked. Quintus felt a smug twinge of enjoyment at the so called king quaking in his boots.

"Vi må forlate. Det vet jeg her." He breathed, panic rising in his being.

"My king please, calm down." Halvor tried soothe his king's worry but the shaken leader would not relax.

"Den ønsker å drepe meg. Gudene miskunne." 

She was active again, pacing in her holding cell. Those unnatural orbs trained exclusively on the clan leader. The desire for the man's blood was powerful with her hurt emotions fueling it. Quintus saught Acharia for guidance. Should they interfere?

"Of course she wants to kill you." She spoke. "Look at what you've done to her. Treating her no more than a rabid animal."

The younger man opened his mouth to disagree but the glimmer in his eyes spoke differently. He knew they had abused her. Esbjorn was lost in his madness, muttering prayer to the Æsir.

"I will pay you for her. Let me cleanse her of you and she of the darkness you have seeded inside her." The huntress offered.

Quintus found himself hoping the men would agree.

Halvor swallowed. "I cannot sell her. She," He twisted his neck to watch the female crouch and sneer at the old one. "She is my sister. To sell her like a... a common beast would not be right."

That piece of information surprised Quintus. She was with family and yet this is her treatment? His mother was lost to the infection but the urge to nurture and protect him remained. These folk, they bound and used their child like a weapon!

She gave the female a melancholy look. "Then free her."

Tired and grieving eyes went between the babbling nonsense man in his arms to his warped sister.

'Du vil drepe ham, ikke sant?' Halvor questioned, knowing of course her decision. 

 _Det er første sanseløs spørsmålet du har spurt meg._  

"No! You cannot free it!" Esbjorn suddenly regained his earlier composure, hobbling to rise. "That thing killed my wife, my daughter!" He raged, pointing a shaking and accusing finger at the half breed. "It owes me it's very life!"

The female in the cage shrieked and lashed out; banging against the bars. Her fangs ached to open wide and snap shut on his throat, relishing in his dying screams.

"She owes you nothing!" Halvor rejected his father's declarations. "Mother was sick and you sent her out to die! Then, by the grace of Frigg, we found her; my sister, your daughter!"

"It has bewitched you, hasn't it? Tricking you into believing it's silvertongue. Your mother and sister were murdered by that creature!" He unleashed his sword, brandishing in her seething expression. "Perhaps I did make an error in keeping you alive."

"Wait!" Halvor and Ancharia yelled in unison. Quintus did not move unless bid.

The king braced his weapon and swung. A cry echoed in the cargo hold.

Halvor gagged on the blood trickling from his lips. The half breed struggled to escape, throwing a fit of hisses and growls. Bolts and steel groaned against her bashes.

"Why?" Esbjorn roared. Over the pounding of his heart and staggering confusion, the king failed to notice the door to the half breed's cage kicked off.

"Run... father..." Havlor fell to his knees.

Esbjorn slowly craned his neck to witness his death emerge. He dashed with a terrified shout.

"Quintus, move!" Ancharia warned as the female darted after him.

He quickly moved over to the left, barely missing her. The collar snapped in it's hold to the wall. She twisted back and wrapped the chain around her forearm. Tugging on it harshly, the metal snapped. She was free.

With ease, she jumped over the vast array of boxed items and landed on the retreating human. He fought her desperately. A trinket slid from his sleeve and into his hand. Esbjorn hollered and smacked the item on her face. It sizzled the skin when contact was made. The female issued a horrible cry and scratched at the object burning into her cheek bone.

The king scrambled from her writhing form, hurrying for the staircase. A clunk and the thing was removed. In a blur of motion, the old man was scooped from the deck and thrown across the room. He laid with a pained grunt. Blinking would miss what would occur next.

The female stalked her human father, allowing his rapidly beating heart to drum in her ears and drown her senses in the impending end she had dreamed of for almost sixty years. He pleaded with his daughter, told honey sweet lies that rotted any fragment of a child that loved her father.

Her head began to twitch as she grew nearer, the achievement of revenge right in front of her. She heaved him up into the air by one hand curled into his tunic collar and splayed her sharp nails to strike.

"Ylva, stopp!" She froze at the name.

Ancharia aided Halvor in standing. He held his bleeding side. _Han fortjener ikke slike godhet._ His sister didn't look at him. 

"Nei men du skal leve langt lenger enn I. bør du komme til å angre på det, jeg ønsker ikke å leve med." He said.

_"Du vil ikke leve lenge hvis sinn sett ikke er endret."_

Giving her brother's request a fleeting consideration, instead entered her father's mind; he went deathly still as she poured these past years of all the suffering and hate she endured. Esbjorn went limp once the process was complete.

Barely satisfied, she dropped the husk of a man like a hot stone. Without sparing any last glances at her onlookers, the female escaped.

"I figured she would pull this stunt." Halvor sighed, groping inside his coat. "This is the key that unlocks the device on her head." He deposited the instrument in Ancharia's hand. "But do be careful when it is removed. Father designed it to... it is an evil thing that should never used." He didn't continue.

"Why did you not do so before she left?" Quintus asked, straining his hearing to pick up her movement.

Ancharia settled Halvor on a package of herbs. "I want her to follow you two and learn compassion, how to be a human." Halvor looked sick now. "I only pray there is a shard remaining to teach."

She tucked the key away in her sleeve. "Halvor, you have done your sibling a great service. Either she finds her humanity or at the very least, she is free to roam."

The brother did not look convinced as they departed. He assured them he would fare and there was no need to stay and help.

Quintus lingered a moment. "What did you call her?" He asked.

"Her name is Ylva. I tell you as she sure as Hel will not."

* * *

"Mr.. lan... Mr. Quinlan,"

Quinlan snapped out of his memory and craned his neck to look at the doctor. "Yes?"

"Uh, you were zoned out pretty hard there." Eph explained.

The Born turned to see Fet and the professor giving him an odd expression. How long had he not spoken?

"You've been silent for like twenty minutes." Fet stated.

Embarrassing, Quinlan inwardly seethed.

"You drifted off into a mute state after telling us the Born was a prisoner." Abraham said from his seat before the Occido Lumen.

Quinlan threaded his fingers together. He hurried to finish this. "When she was born, Ylva was raised in cells and darkness. Only to see the outside when her father fetched her for a raid or war. She the grand cog in his machine of victory. Nearly sixty years passed before I located her." He left out the huntress as it was another scar he did not want to re open.

"That's it?" Fet scoffed. "So what, you-you rescued her and everything was okie dokie? I mean you described her as some barbarian-"

Quinlan was before him in a second, growling. "Do not refer to her as such. The circumstance of her life was not by choice. Those scum for men tortured and about ruined her if I had not come along! Ylva was a product of savagery yes." Gods her name burned his throat.

"But underneath all those scars and uncouth manner was a..." Beautiful, caring, and passionate woman. These fools didn't deserve to know her. "A human that just wanted to be in peace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norse translations in order as they come.
> 
> Jeg har reist langt, søker du draugr/ I have traveled far, seeking the one you call again-walker
> 
> Det er ingen skapning her, begone/There is no creature here. Ta din egen med deg/ Take your own with you.
> 
> Du fornærme en prins og min intelligens/You insult a prince and my intelligence. "Jeg har ører i mange steder. Vis meg den människoätare/ I have ears in many places. Show me the man-eater.
> 
> Få vekk derfra!/ Get away from there!
> 
> Vi må forlate. Det vet jeg her/ We must leave. It knows I am here.
> 
> Den ønsker å drepe meg. Gudene miskunne/ It wants to kill me. Gods have mercy.
> 
> Du vil drepe ham, ikke sant?/ You will kill him, won't you?
> 
> Det er første sanseløs spørsmålet du har spurt meg./ That is the first senseless questions you have asked me.
> 
> Stopp!/Stop!
> 
> Han fortjener ikke slike godhet./ He does not deserve such a kindness.
> 
> Nei men du skal leve langt lenger enn I. bør du komme til å angre på det, jeg ønsker ikke å leve med./No but you shall live far longer than I. Should you come to regret it, I do not want you to live with that.
> 
> Du vil ikke leve lenge hvis sinn sett ikke er endret./You will not live for long if that mind set is not changed.
> 
> Esbjorn means bear of the gods.  
> Halvor means defender.  
> Ylva means female wolf.


	3. Wild Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is tad short as I haven't been feeling very well past few days. Still not hundred percent but wanted to get this out there.
> 
> Thank you to all who gave Kudos and commented.

Quinlan retired to one of the many rooms lining the hallway outside the area Setrakian and his comrades used. He along with Gus, Angel, Vasily Fet, and the professor rid the building of the unclean; establishing a base for time in translating the Lumen. Speaking of Gus and his friend, the Born hadn't heard from them since clearing the club. He would have to locate them later.

Arctic blue eyes skimmed over the small room. These were private and convenient quarters for the patrons of this business. The essentials for a human, none of which were a use to him. Only items of importance were his weapons and pack; said item shoved into the bed's corner.

Inside, tucked away by the other set of clothing he possessed, were talismans that held a higher value to him than gold to a mortal. More akin heirlooms now as both previous owners passed on without him. Too much recollection today, he growled. It felt as every buried memory unearthed, biting at him like agitated instincts.

He needed to get out. Hiding away like some brooding adolescent was ridiculous!

Snatching his guns and sword, Quinlan threw on his overcoat and turned to leave when realization hit like a shock of cold water. He was distracted by the self anger that the half breed nearly forgotten.

A pale hand reached in and dug around for the treasures. Talons clacked against metal. He withdrew a small marble engraving framed with actual gold. The mineral grew tarnished over the millennia yet the picture did not fade too much. It's depiction did not remain as detailed as it once had but it survived the test of time.

The other object spilled onto the bed. Quinlan quickly drew it up and stashed it along with the pendant in the inner pocket he designed just for these items. Never did he depart without these pieces. They were just as much a part of him as the very flesh on his body.

Gathering himself once more Quinlan left the room and exited the building, walking into the plague filled streets.

* * *

 

A _strigoi_ screeched as the silver blade cut through it's neck tendons, severing the head and ending it's unholy life.

Quinlan breathed heavily.

Mid way through the second apartment building clearing, his pair of Uzi sub-machine guns had ran empty due to the heavy presence of the _strigoi_ in the first. Leaving him with his sword and gloved hands to deal with the undead masses. Thankfully the further he ascended, the less Quinlan found.

Normally such strain on his person was not uncommon and welcome as a distraction. But the reason behind this assault was emotional and that pressed harder than the physical exertion. It was driving him weak with madness. He heard their voices as if they were next to him, strolling right beside him.

This was the curse placed upon his kind; torn between emotion and instinct. Predator and prey locked inside one body. It warped the human senses, twisting them into an unnatural force. Rarely did Quinlan forge a bond. Mortals never living very long made him stray from it more so. But when he did, those connections were stronger than the world's most durable metal. While he grew fond of them, no matter how brief, he never regretted knowing them yet; they were also dangerous.

His mother, Ancharia, the Berber woman and her little girl, and- During his deep thought, a _strigoi_ carved in half crawled towards him; bowls dragging behind and leaving a trail of blood and worms. It closed the distance, reaching the strange vampire. Maw stretching impossibly wide, it went to bite down on the dangling arm that was absent of weapons. Fangs tore through cloth before it met flesh.

Quinlan reacted soon enough to drive the tip of his sword through the bald skull. The body fell with a thud as the top of it's head rolled down the flight of stairs. He frowned at the ripped sleeve. Mending rent clothes were a bother. Hence why Quinlan had his own personal tailor...

A row of jagged teeth forever imprinted on his flesh stared up at him.

_Ylva..._

* * *

 

The female Born was crouched in the corner like an irate cat, snarling and hissing at his every attempt to help her.

Pearl like blood flowed out of the tips of her mouth.

Ancharia had been able to remove the device snared on her head like a vice with the key the bother provided. They understood know why the kin was ashamed of the King's invention. Two blades were melded onto the sides of the brace that came around the mouth, those were embedded into her lower jaw; ensuring the dhampir would not open her mouth unless permission was granted.

Quintus growled once he saw the damage done to her gums.

They were inflamed and sliced so deeply that her teeth's roots were revealed. Nerves and tissue out in the open in like that, no wonder Ylva was so upset. Constantly in pain, not given the proper time to heal, and denied blood to help the smallest bit. It was justified.

Until the female lashed out at Ancharia as the device slid free.

Her sharp nails barely missed the old woman as Quintus maneuvered her out of harm's way. He hissed at Ylva, enraged at her behavior. The female was unphased by his reaction and merely crawled in the dark space of the tent, glowering at the pair.

"It's all right. Let her lick her wounds." Ancharia stepped out from his shadow and picked up the deranged excuse for a muzzle. "I'd be rather infuriated if this was strapped on my head."

Quintus blew air through the valves of his stinger, aggravated. Her acts were dismissed as a toddler's tantrum. Ylva could've hurt her or worse! Of course the huntress waved it off and the afternoon faded into evening. Leading them back to the start, she in the corner; glaring and snarling at them.

She needed blood for the wounds to cease flowing and repair the lacerations. Over the duration of Ancharia's meal Quintus clacked his stinger to Ylva, trying to get her attention. She did not answer. Her crimson and gold orbs watched them as the elder ate. He disliked the hunger that lit her eyes.

The fifth Born tried again to carouse the female from her spot. Instead of the usual spitting and growling, she did nothing. He rose a brow. Carefully, Quintus reached to her bloody lips. Ylva suddenly whirled her head about and latched her pointed teeth into his forearm. He roared at her and attempted to remove the fangs without hurting her further.

Ice cold water drenched them both. Quintus flinched like an electric shock hit his body. Ylva, on the other hand, released him and turned her head slowly. The flesh of her throat bent outward as the stinger woke, ready to fly towards it's dinner. He acted quickly and moved behind Ylva, wrapping one arm around her neck and snapping her jaws shut with the other.

She became wild in his hold, bucking and struggling. The stinger writhed in her mouth as it smacked against her fangs.

At his owner's bidding, lack for a better term at the time, Quintus released the choke hold and man handled Ylva outside. The feral dhampir snatched her arm back from him.

Do not touch me! She spat with such acidic venom Quintus reeled from her.

Then behave!

It hurts and I'm starving. Her eyes flicked to the tent.

He growled. She is not prey. She is mortal.

Ylva argued. Therefore she is my drink.

Her gaze looked him up and down. Never seen a male slotted in the status of pet.

I am no one's pet. Quintus ground out.

Ylva shrugged, uninterested in going back and forth now. Another blood beat she picked up on. She lept away in a blur.

Quintus huffed and went after her. Morning was drawing near as he weaved through the thicket of trees. Rays light breaking the clouds and peeking over the horizon. He had to locate her and quickly. The thundering of hooves echoed in his ears along side an excited trill. He broke off the left.

Quintus reached a small clearing just in time to witness Ylva gracefully jump from the limbs and onto the biggest stag. Her claws rendered it's neck and it fell to the earth. Acting swiftly, Ylva wove her hands around the thick antlers of the creature and released her stinger. It squealed with glee as it struck the jugular, drinking heavily.

An odd sensation bloomed within him as he watched. He couldn't describe it as he had never felt such things before. How Ylva looked as she dispatched the animal was... nice. Quintus didn't have a proper word for it.

 _Don't gorge yourself._ He patronized.

She ignored him and greedily sucked the animal to a dry husk. It dropped with a content trill. Beams of faint sunlight crept through the tree line and onto her face.

Quintus paused.

It lit her expression well. Her almond shaped eyes were not set in a half glare but at ease. A mark of birth, Anchaira called it, ran from her the crown of her head down over her nose and blood dripping chin; a trait he failed to notice before.

She looked happy.

Later on in his life, once much more had been learned, would he realize it was the day he began to love her.

They returned before dawn fully awoke. Quintus had drug the carcass of the stag with them, saying Ancharia could use it. Ylva didn't speak a word the whole way. She finally gave into slumber after the long staring contest she had with the both of them.

Over the stretch of a year and half, Ylva would still act out. She was intelligent and was better off than Quintus when first found but the slips came with her upbringing. It was easier to let the inner base of self react.

She bit Quintus again in the same place when Ancharia told him to hold her since she would not bathe as she was repeatedly asked to. The layers of blood and grim on her body was awful. It was hazardous unsurprisingly. The fourth Born kicked the bowl of water away and dove her fangs into the almost healed mark from before.

The same process followed with each new challenge. Whether be manners, getting along properly with either of them, or even clothing; Ylva made an episode each time. With poor reaction, came the bite that eventually made a scar. She seemed proud of it much to Quintus' dismay.

It would soon become a ritual between the pair during of prompts of desire.

Something Quintus wouldn't fathom of missing...

* * *

 

Hunched beneath them looming statue of a gargoyle, Quinlan traced the lunar scar.

So much connected to something so small.

Thunder rumbled in the background as storm clouds rolled in the night. Rain would follow soon. He should get back.

Shifting to be up right, an object tumbled from his coat nearly falling off the edge. He gave a startled noise and went after it. It rolled an inch off before he caught in his grasp. Quinlan retreated and held it protectively to his chest as if some was trying to rob him of it.

Opening his palm, he inspected the object for any suffered damage.

A dulled curled fang lay unbroken.

It came from a type of bear that no longer existed. They grew to large heights and possessed raw strength that none could hunt in small parties. Ylva overheard these tales and sought one out.

Quinlan trailed behind and chiding deaf ears it was a foolish notion. She was not deterred. The female dhampir was determined to best the creature.

The challenge ended badly.

The enraged animal nearly disemboweled Ylva but not before she miraculously killed it. Quinlan fussed over her the entire healing process that took a grueling four days.

Once she was better, he presented her with the tooth fashioned into a necklace.

He didn't have the heart to lie. She defeated the thing fairly.

Quinlan could recall her face clearly. How bright it was when he told her and gave the necklace. She was openly that happy a handful of occurrences. Each where with him and he felt blessed to witness them.

Ylva wore it every day since then.

Until the day she vanished without a trace.

Lightening flashed as the rain began to pour. Quinlan closed his hand into a trembling fist. All that was left of his mate was this poor gift. He tucked into himself and kept the trinket close. The first time in decades Quinlan bowed his head and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment?


	4. Under Lock and Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii everybody! This a longer chapter than last and I have earned the permission to use a Born of another's imagination. A big thank you to who I will only call Bell for allowing me to write your OC! :) It was fun to add her, giving a happier acquaintance to my anti-social child, haha!
> 
> The flashback in here will take place in Ylva's POV. Not entirely sure how it happened as I wanted to keep it in Quinlan's but it flowed out that way. O_o
> 
> I added another Born OC of mine too, Vlad. One we may not see again... Oh well. My brain needs to cease... Enjoy!
> 
> Leotine (LEE-OT-TINE) does not belong to me!!

Quinlan loomed in the shadow once retreating after speaking with the drunken doctor.

The itch of irritation prickled in his veins. Goodweather certainly held skill beyond medical practice and selection of liquid spirits. Prodding at the few, very few, chinks in his armor was not enough to eclipse the near millennia Quinlan had constructing his impregnable facade. It was possible for him to feel emotions unlike his mindless cousins. He was honed in keeping them tightly in check. The doctor did manage to... annoy Quinlan over the topic of his fallen birth mother.

His corrupted giver of life had been dealt an unfair hand by the weavers of destiny and so in turn, had he. There was nothing to be done except swallow the bitterness and go on. In the end, all who had been threaded into this horrid tapestry with him would rest easily when Quinlan achieved his revenge.

Ephraim's slurring voice pricked at his ears.

It was clear the man held more up his shelve than he wished to admit. Seven days since the passing of a beloved companion and he suddenly appears with with the news, passing on the grief to the before close group. Only Quinlan, perhaps the old one, seemed to detect the odd interest in the Lumen.

A human of science did not believe in folklore, legends, or creatures like he. Displaying such a unnatural intrigue in a book that spoke of the angels, devils, and the unholy did not fit quite right. Had the man lost his mind to the seemingly plague or did his faith turn else where?

His scent gave off anxious waves. Guilt floating just beneath them. He felt conflicted. But whatever for?

The professor lightly mentioned this Goodweather having a son. Obviously, the boy was not with his father so what was his fate? Had the child died along side this other doctor or taken by his turned wife? Quinlan leaned towards the pawn of his father abducting her Dear One.

There was urgency thrumming his blood as well. A type Quinlan was familiar with. Either way, there was weakness. A signal, tender point that Quinlan could exploit and manipulate.

Ephraim Goodweather could be used in a way that could benefit them both...

* * *

 

**France**

**May 16, 1770**

The country of France was in a state of rejoice and harmony. It's next king and queen were to wed this very morning in the Chapel Versailles. Five thousands witnesses crammed themselves into the Hall of Mirrors to behold such a historic event that be remembered for centuries on.

A pair of orbs, dyed glittering gold and ruby red, watched from a clove of shadow. Trivial mortal ceremonies mattered little to nothing to the onlooker.

Elegant curves of letters stood out on the parchment paper that had found it's way into clawed fingers. An invitation to this mortal public display of vows that spoke of love and duty. Eyes rolled the bubbly guides of matrimony.

Absurd. A waste of time.

They turn to leave as the event comes to an end, applause and cheer erupting in a thousand waves of grating noise on sensitive ears. They pause as a delighted trill vibrates under the rolling sounds of human excitement.

_Ylva, darling, you made it after all!_

The willowy woman glanced to her right. A sliver backed mirror standing tall within the stone wall captured her own distorted figure and the approaching, twitching and blurred in the reflection.

 _Leotine, how I could not? The sheer luck of this stealing it's way into my possession,_ Ylva tapped the paper in her grasp. _Is most impressive and could be not ignored._

Leotine, a Born native to this country, smirked at her old friend. _It is easy if one has the right connections._

She had not changed over the long march of life. Flesh as strikingly pale like fresh fallen snow. Frame was short and thin as a rail but more durable than appearance lead on. Crimson eyes that pierced through every layer of the soul, not missing a minor detail. And a coloured pair of wine plump lips that ever frozen in a pout.

Perceptive and graceful as a pixie.

These features were the popular trend in this century. Leotine was much loved and adored for those attributes. Unlike she, who harbored scars aplenty and darkness in her heart, Leotine was perfection.

 _Impressive as ever,_ Ylva complimented the beautiful dhampir, regarding the fine silks and lace Leotine fashioned into a flowing gown that rivaled the princess' herself.

A pleased grin broke out on the female's mouth. _'Tis a hobby, sweet wolf, but many thanks._

Each Born seemed to have affinity towards certain arts. Azar, deceased for the past thousand years, was described to possess the sight; his ability to dodge deathly encounters in the future. Of course this was proven faulty at his demise rumored to be acting in defense of his Original.

Throne was prone to staying invisible to those who wanted to find him. He did not vanish truly in the sense of the word. The British half-strigoi was a crafty being, able to hide beneath your very nose. Any trace of his presence was carefully managed, unable to be detected. Throne was probably in plain view during this event.

Ylva hoped Leotine didn't invite the bastard.

Daveig, her sister in the ties of a shared Ancient, loomed greatly over she and many men. Strength unbound ran rampant through Daveig. Any challenge their homeland issued, she answered and conquered. She became legendary. Blood red eyes, fang filled mouth, and icy grey flesh, her sister began the tales of Frost Giants. They remained still told after she was long gone.

Claps and blessings then died down as bodies started to vacate the church. The public display for the common to see had drawn to a close. France's newest alliance and crowned along with elite and privileged, departed next to the grand hall rented for the occasion. Leotine buzzed with excitement.

"Cease your self loathing. I can feel it churn all the way over here." Leotine spoke aloud, now the crowd had filtered out.

Ylva hissed. Glaring into eyes that were level with her own. "I can't be envious of your dress?"

Leotine pursed her lips. "The day I sense any jealously from you over clothing, I may just sprout golden locks."

A tiny hand clasped onto Ylva's. "Chin up, darling. We've a party to attend."

She allowed herself to be drug along. Heels clicking against the stone flooring. Bright throws France's colours intertwined with other hand picked hung from the ceiling passed by. "It'll be a pity once they take those down." Ylva commented.

Leotine looked over her shoulder with a grin. "If you enjoyed those banner of cheap wraps, just wait until to see what I have done to the hall."

* * *

She didn't disappoint. Leotine never did with her forte in this area.

The ballroom was a grand sight to behold. Chandelier of crystal stung above. The candle light flickering through the glass and reflecting brilliant array of colours. Tables lined the walls cloaked in the purist white clothes, set with extravagant foods, and decorated with vibrant flowers.

Music of string and flute whisked throughout the atmosphere like a dream as nobles and blood relatives chatted among themselves. It was a significant decrease from who attended before yet the room still felt stuffed. And stuffed pockets. Ylva weaved between the crowd, smiling at whoever noticed. She could be polite if she wanted.

Pale fingers dug into passing purses and coat pockets. Foolish humans were practically drug down to the floor with the gold and fine items they were totting about! She was doing them a favor.

Successfully making her rounds, Ylva retreated to seize up her gross sum.

A throat cleared behind her.

 _Someone's fingers are awfully sticky._ Leotine rose the flesh of her brow at Ylva like a mother staring down her child with their hand in the cookie jar.

 _They were asking for it._ Ylva re adjusted her cuff.

She tutted and picked up an empty punch bowl. _Not at my event. Put it back, all of it._ The glass bowl was thrust at her when Ylva didn't comply.

 _Fine!_ Various loot poured from Ylva's long sleeves: necklaces, bracelets, rings, and amounts of coin.

Leotine frowned. _You've stolen from everyone in here!_

 _Not everyone._ Ylva nodded towards the royal family.

 _I will slap your grabby self into the sun, girl._ Leotine warned.

Ylva put her hands up in surrender.

 _I'll make up a fib to cover you._ Leotine shook her head in dismay, setting down the dish.

 _You'll behave if I leave your side?_ Ylva agreed.

Leotine sighed and dove back into the mess of bodies.

Ylva was alone now, standing far out of interaction. Leotine on the other side, receiving praise from the current rulers and parents of the young ones. Minutes ticked away and she began to feel uncomfortable. The noise and compact feel of the party made Ylva uneasy. She didn't know any except for one who was busy. Everything started to inch closer to her, closing her in, like a shrinking cage.

Too much...!

"Ylva?" A voice shattered the ocean of panic she was drowning in. Her non-matching eyes focused on the owner of the gruff tone. A large and towering body stood over her. Bright red eyes studied her in worry.

"Vladislav?" Uneven but pointed teeth formed a warm smile.

Vladislav was a recent Born Ylva discovered in Russia a few years ago. He was tall, over seven feet, and was built like a house. Muscle was roped and tight on this male. Ylva was slightly imposed the first time they met. Alas, the man was not very bright in the _strigoi_ department.

There was nothing to fear from this Born. He stated his bloodlust with large animals or the lost mortal. He kept secluded from any human eye.

Reason behind his discovery was Ylva stepping off the beaten path.

Vladislav could not feel a pull to anyone, including his undead mother and Original. Telepathy was impossible. He heard no voice inside his head nor could he project his own. He was as smart as any other half-breed and as strong but failed at communicating over wave lengths.

"I smelt your distress. Are you well?" His hand enveloped her own, making her feel like a child.

"Thank you, I'm fine. How did you know to come here?" Ylva asked, confused.

Leotine hustled over to the pair. "I heard about him and felt he needed to be introduced to the rest of us." She placed a gentle hand on his thick arm. "It's terribly lonely in the cold."

The hostess beamed at her special guests. A tiny hand waved to a dim corner within the lit room of happiness and unity. "I've arranged a private gathering for our kind. Please go and sit until our last guest arrives."

Ylva felt her dead heart constrict. She hadn't seen him in almost a decade. By her own design of course. He made promises that caused Ylva to float in the clouds yet also scream.

 **Fear.** A disgusting human trait passed on by her late mother.

"Oh! There he is!" Leotine awed, dropping them like hot pans, and hurried over to the latest attendee. Vladislav guided Ylva through the sea of mortals, careful not to brush any to avoid attention.

He opened the door and awaited her to enter before himself. A natural gentleman in this age.

"Why don't you get settled without me?" Ylva tried to kindly decline. "I'll wait on the other two."

He gave her a sad and knowing smile. A dip of his head and he disappeared behind the ornate doors; Throne's laughter escaping. She slid into the background, eyes watching from the shadow the curtain provided.

Red eyes gleamed with a burning love at the joining dhampir who seemed completely inept at sensing. Ylva was not so blind. Leotine was enamored with the famous half-breed that hailed from Rome. She was not bothered by this though. Who could not be struck so by him? A being would could make battle resemble a sensual waltz that was utterly perfected in every way. Human and half- _strigoi_ alike were attracted to the pale eyed man.

His icy gaze broke from Leotine for a split moment and found her instantly. Ylva cursed.

Did Leotine drop she was here? Deciding it did not mean much whether or not she did, the savage Born ducked from visibility and squeezed her frame through the door way without being too noticeable to the eye who caught every little detail.

"So I told the Scott-" She interrupted whatever story the English half-breed was re-telling to Vladislav. Both males turned their heads to her jumbled entrance.

"Ah, there is the wolf in sheep's clothing!" Throne's annoying voice made Ylva curl her lip in a silent snarl.

The Russian frowned. "Something has happened?"

"No, I was just caught off guard is all." Ylva lied. He didn't believe her but had no chance to press further as Throne clacked his stinger in surprise.

"I thought Leotine was bluffing but you really wearing sporting a formal garment!" He gave her a crooked grin. "You do look rather fetching in it."

Ylva thought she might implode from the rage building in her chest at his comment. She and Throne did not exactly get along. Think of the two as a pair of toddlers locked inside a playroom with only one toy to share. Biting, hollering, and total noncooperation ensues.

She stomped over to him, lounging in the wine coloured armchair like a king. "I could say the same to the rat crawling forth from his sewers." Ylva hissed, bunching his cotton shirt in her unwavering fist.

Throne gaped at her, expression horrified at the prospect Ylva knew where he hid. Nervous red eyes clicked to Vladislav for help.

"He is correct. You do look lovely." Ylva snapped her head to him, orbs wide in betrayal.

"Of course you'd say that," Throne said with a huff. "It's only smart after you slept with he-"

Approaching footfalls stopped near the door. An excited blood beat echoed in their enhanced ears. It was the newly crowned princess of France, Marie Antoinette. Neither on the other side could ignore the young royal. She gushed to Leotine her thanks over the decorations and preparations; hoping Leotine would be available should Marie ever need her talents again for any occasions in the future. If the Born had the ability to cry in happiness and pride, Ylva was sure she would have; even in front of the princess.

Good for you, Leotine. Ylva thought, releasing Throne.

The male Born glared daggers at her but did not possess the gall to advance in a threat. Ylva would tear him asunder. The conversation was coming to an end, it was the signal for her to beat it. Besides Leotine actually managing to get a hold of her, Ylva had a different agenda. Tucking her skirts into her hands, Ylva made a hasty exit.

A hallway stretched long before her. Candle sticks lit aflame down along the walls. Lounge sofas placed in front of large panels of glass. Paintings of family and scenery droned the space between light. Multiple doors caused multiple choices.

Which one, which one? Her mind chased the resounding question.

Ylva had sneaked a peek at the man during the party whose room she was searching for. An older man with a pot belly and fluffy white beard. His scent was of a particular brandy, smoke of a fag, and the stench that followed age. Ylva sniffed the air, her stinger churring with the action. He had to be here somewhere. But where?

Finally she narrowed it down to the last door on the right. Skeletal fingers curled around the bronze knob and twisted. It was unlocked! Ylva smirked and whisked her way inside.

Shutting the door quietly, the Born faced the private chambers. Nothing of value laid out nor gave any clue to what she was seeking. Rummaging through the writing desk and vanity, she discovered no more than dust and what was supposed to be there.

Scowling, Ylva checked beneath the bed. Bare. Rising with a growl, she placed her hands on her cocked hips. Surely the old fool brought it!

A gold iris glanced at the closet. "Losing your touch old girl." Ylva sighed, walking over.

Wrenching the double doors open, the target was revealed. A purr rumbled past her lips. "There you are," Her proboscis trilling in glee.

A tall box of metal stood hidden behind a row of clothes. It was brand new safe, taking in the colour and design. The name **Liberty** painted in gold cursive letters above the three pronged handle. This came from the makers across the ocean, the newly forged Americas. Ylva rolled her eyes.

New or old, she could force the iron container to bend.

Reaching into her bodice for the tools, the shift in room made her pause. A familiar presence entered the room.

"Quinlan," She breathed.

His handsome face was clouded by a storm of anger and hurt. He was not happy with her skipping out.

"Why did you-" He stopped, his eyes blinking in disbelief. "They weren't lying." Quinlan appeared to be shocked for a split second. "You are wearing a dress."

She hissed at him. Why was that so jaw dropping?! "It happens!"

He began to invade her personal space. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Ylva blinked. What was there to say? The truth? He'd laugh or worse, rebuke her. Instead she replied his question with one of her own. "Why haven't you caught up?"

Quinlan shook his head. "I'm not playing your little games, Ylva."

She shrugged and returned to fiddle with the chest. A pair of gloved hands roughly spun her around.

His upset expression glaring down at her. "We are not younglings anymore, Ylva!" His fingers turned iron in their hold. "Almost two thousand years have we been with one another, in whatever form the other needs. You have put your life on the line for me. Gods, woman, I have followed you to damn near every corner of this world!"

This discussion didn't-can't-happen right now. They had accomplished so much together, lived through so much. Why wasn't that enough? He had his chance at a normal life and it was ruined. Did he expect her to fill that role so easily?

"I need your answer, Ylva."

Her body turned to ice in his grip. Her mind whirled to come up with anything to alter the topic. A weakness Quinlan had was the stubbornness to learn something until it was mastered. She had taught him a few things over their long life, including how to break into chest and pick locks on cells and cuffs. To her knowledge, he had yet to take a stab this.

"Want to learn how to crack a safe?" Ylva held up the tool she created herself.

* * *

Ylva made her earnings not just through the means of her Original but having the knack for the art of thievery. She was adept at swiping items from unsuspecting pass bys or sneaking into homes and stealing from underneath them. Leotine took a good ten years until she forgave Ylva snatching that duke's jewel. Although it was due much to Quinlan asking for it.

Leotine had been one of the lucky to be not accounted for in the Lumen. She blended in so well in society, she never stuck out. By day, she hosted popular social parties for mortals. Her nightly havens constructed posed as a private gala for guests receiving invitation only was extremely useful to any wandering Born or even Ancient that needed cover. Leotine's own Original housed itself -at her consent- within the basement should it be in the area.

Quinlan knew the petite Born was in love with him. During Ylva's long absence, he did try to return those emotions. Whether to get back at Ylva or to drown the sense of loneliness from his bones, Quinlan cannot recall. Yet his efforts bore no fruit. He regarded Leotine as precious; a dear friend and that was all. It broke the dhampir's heart but she remained kind to him and even Ylva.

They visited her until Throne's death. It shook Leotine deeply. Feeling it was unsafe to remain in the same spot for a extended period as she did, the female vanished. He knew Leotine was alive but where was a mystery until one day after Ylva disappeared too, did her mind go black. A rapid succession of loss.

The outline of the doctor's shape passed through the double glass doors, where the Occido Lumen was kept in safe and under the light of UV. He tore himself from sulking. The professor was taking far too long to translate the sought after text.

He would have his revenge now!

* * *

**Stoneheart**

Eldritch Palmer laid connected to various machines to monitor his health; injected with man's useless medicine. He was beyond any help of mortal means. And the Master just watched as he crumbled to dust. Eichhorist sent to mock and sneer at his state.

Ire at the very possibility of being used a bank of never drying resources to the undead burned like acid in his breast.

Had that professor been right since the beginning? A soft voice of sensibility whispered at the back of his fading mind. Reciting every mark of betrayal; images flickering through his inner eye.

Being kept at arm's length as structures were being built in his name, his hard earned money poured into them. Threats after near abduction, possibly death of him, by armed _strigoi_ in hoods. Coco, oh his darling Coco, turned by the Master but dead by Palmer's own hands. And now this sick type of power play! Dangling the blood before him like holy elixir only to hold it higher above his reach.

God forsaken him. Humanity failing him. The Master abandoning him.

Palmer, a giant in the business world for his cold cut deals and unwavering stance in negotiations, was reduced to a pathetic and kicked hound.

"Mr. Palmer, sir," Mr. Duncan his newly hired head of security walked in.

"Ah, Mr. Duncan, what is it?" Godamnit! His voice sounded so frail and sickly.

Duncan came to his side and reached inside his coat pocket, fetching a folded piece of paper. Gloved hands handed it over, patiently waiting for Palmer to grasp it. A trembling limb lifted to retrieve the document. His clouded vision narrowed, straining to make out the exact wording.

"I cannot see...this paragraph clearly. What does it say?" He wheezed out.

A professional worried glance was cast his way before he leaned to examine the letter. "There has been an issue with the cargo arriving from Egypt. It says here, a part was mistakenly loaded to another boat but that still heading for the US. The vessel arrives ahead of it's partner shipment on tomorrow evening." He informed.

Peculiar.

That was the ship Eichhorist told him about when his latest human consultant was 'introduced'. It was imperative, for Palmer's health, that this did not go south. Eldritch's chest heaved as he breathed out a hoarse sigh.

More things to go wrong and be blamed on his human error.

"Track it." He ordered with as must strength as he could muster. The head of security nodded and turned to leave.

"Mr. Duncan," He paused, waiting for his boss to continue. "Bring the car around. I'm paying an old...friend of mine a visit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, one more chapter before things really begin to pick up. Also, I hate to say this but I feel like no one likes this an awful lot. I will keep writing regardless but comments are meaningful too. I'm not expecting long and detailed reviews but some would be appreciated?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. A Mortal Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I presume most of you have been waiting for lol. Ahead there is sex of the domination kind. My friend got a sub Q in my head and now he won't leave. Anyways, you may skip over that if you wish. It's not going to mess up anything. 
> 
> This is the first kind of different sex I have written. Sooo if it comes across weird, I'm sorry... hahaa?
> 
> Also I've tampered with the show's lines a little to correspond to this fic? Ehhh? 
> 
> Enjoy.

The Lumen was easily obtained as Quinlan had said. Once the doctor switched off the UV lights set up by the exterminator, stealing his way into the safe was terribly easy. The half breed was slightly offended at the flimsy barriers of defense. A normal _strigoi_ would not have been able to even get close to the lock box's perimeter thanks to the damned lights but should Eichorist played his hand first, should the lap dog gotten past him, the book would be lost.

He watched now as Ephriam flipped through the silver bound text, remaining ever conflicted. "Still agonizing?"

The doctor paused, answering over his shoulder. "Am I fool?"

A redundant question as Quinlan's opinions on most human kind were the same. "Well, you are human."

Goodweather's agitation flared a bit before deflating into defeat and confusion. "It's a book bound in silver, full of myth and folklore about _strigoi_ throughout recorded history. It's just a book, I know that."

Ah, still doubting but something else lingered in his tone. "Yes?"

"If the Master wants it this badly, it must have some value to him." He continued.

"So he believes it does." The horrid creature he loathed to even call father placed it's faith in myths, pages of an age old tome. Quinlan never fathomed why mortals, even his accidental maker, referred to mere scraps of paper jotted down by a being of flesh and blood; claiming they heard a benevolent voice speaking to them. The dhampir believed in only one thing to be true and unshakable: destiny.

"Exactly," Ephriam swirled the chair around to face him. "Am I trading the future of human life on earth for the soul of my boy?" The doctor asked, voice strained with the emotion of paternal and logic reason.

"A parent's love for his or her offspring is one of the prime movers of human experience." He explained without needing to really.

"Or so you've been told." The man knew nothing about Quinlan.

Quinlan understood on this on an intimate level. Although he would not reveal that to the human, the Born knew the struggle wrought from caring for a child. Mortal nature always clashing with his vampiric on predicaments involving the young girl that came with the woman he purchased to marry.

She was small, clumsy, naive, and above all; a constant thing to be watched. Quinlan debated with himself many times when issues arose on what to do with the girl. More than once had the child tripped and scraped her knee, fell from the tree that grew at the corner of the house, or burnt her tiny hand on her mother's brewing pot.

He could've been cold to her, letting the little girl get hurt over and over until she finally learned, but he chose to take a gentle but steady hand with her. Under the constant surveillance of her mother of course. The Berber woman often reminded him of an lioness protecting her offspring against any threat in the beginning. It was a trait he later came to admire.

His daughter, on the other hand, proved trail to test his tolerance. She taught him what the warrior already believed he possessed: endless patience.

If such a miracle manifested that offered to restore his adopted daughter and the others he had loved in his long life the price only being every life in this God forsaken concrete jungle, Quinlan would not pay it. He had his time with them, however briefly. Those chapters were written and finished long ago. Now all that remained was his destiny then the book, his story, would close forever.

"Professor Setrakian informs me that your wife is one of the Master's principal servants." Goodweather grew somewhat upset that the old man had told him this.

His eyes narrowed. "What about it?"

"I believe there are other elemental human emotions at play here, as well as a parent's love, such as hatred and revenge." He pointed out.

The father huffed, turning away from him.

"Don't shy away from the truth of what motivates you, doctor." Quinlan walked up a few feet from the table where the doctor and Lumen sat.

His mother, Ancharia, his wife and daughter, and Ylva; all their faces bubbling up in his mind now. They were ones whose fates were sealed because of him. He would vengeance for every single life taken.

"That book is the answer to both our problems. You will get your son back and I will kill my father."

* * *

Vasily Fet was beyond pissed off. His blood boiled at the reality of that half muncher was able to get his freaky claws on the book. Dutch's terrified and tear stained with black mascara expression flashed through his mind's eye.

No filthy blood sucker stole from him!

"I knew that fucker couldn't be trusted." Fet seethed, throwing on his torn overcoat.

The betrayal stung more as the Doc wasn't anywhere to be found either. Both he and the professor assumed the worst.

Grabbing up the keys to the military vehicle given to him by one of the SEALS, Fet hollered. "Come on professor! We got a backstabbin' sucker to catch!"

Abraham mumbled something about youths and their impatience under his breath before joining the exterminator in the elevator. Fet rushed out of the pretentious club towards the parked rover. The prof hadn't got the chance to take a lift in it. He was a little bit excited to show it off to the old man.

"What'cha think, huh?" He motioned it with a lit grin.

"Good as any Mr. Fet," Abraham said, unimpressed.

He sulked. What did it take to get a smile to crack out on the guy? Besides the Master Rat going poof. If that even managed the seemingly impossible task.

Fet climbed in after the professor. The engine roared to life. The monitor installed in the dash lit up, the schematics of the city laid out. The tracker Fet hid the book was the little round red dot blinking to life. Eph ran back to his old apartment? He frowned. Felt too easy, too predictable. Yet the doc knew Fet had difficulty going back.

"I know a short cut." He stepped on the gas pedal and they were off.

Buildings swept past unnoticed from the intense gaze of the vampire hunters. Pay back was more heavy on the mind then abandoned store fronts, growing piles of litter, and empty streets.

Fet mused the idea of putting on some music until he remembered the last time made the professor complain about the confounding noise of today's style. It made him crack a small smile. They rode in silence for a few blocks until suddenly three black SUVs blocked their paths on all sides. Fet slammed on the brakes.

"What the hell?!" He exclaimed, searching to see if any face stuck out from the tinted glass.

Setrakian readied his silver blade. "Mr. Fet,"

The professor lived long enough that in times like these, _strigoi_ were not the only enemy.

A dark skinned male dressed in a fine tailored suit stepped out of the center car. That stone cold glint his eyes spoke there was no room for nonsense. Four other suits climbed out armed and flanked the main guy. He was here on business and it would be heard.

"Mr. Vasily Fet and Professor Abraham Setrakian, step out the vehicle please." He ordered, voice accented with what heritage Fet couldn't name at the moment.

"Who do you think they are?" He asked, reaching for his trusty rebar from the crevice of his seat.

"We'll find out, won't we?" Abraham replied with his own quip, unlocking his door and getting out.

Fet grimaced but followed. They stood in front of the grill, weapons hid carefully but ready to show when needed.

The unknown individual cleared his throat. "I am here on the behalf of Mr. Palmer." He informed.

Fet curled his lip. "Who says we wanna hear it?"

The new instated head of Stoneheart's security found no amusement in this. Instead of replying to that snide comment, he withdrew a white envelope from his inner coat pocket.

"You may wish to read this."

* * *

 

The ride from the doctor's current base of operations was silent save the wriggling sensation of a hesitant curiosity building in the air. Quinlan hoped to the gods above Goodweather would remain within this steady balance of quite and stillness but unfortunately, he did not.

"So help me out here. The Master isn't your biologic father of course because _strigoi_ don't, by their very nature, possess the proper equipment." Ephriam stated rather than asked.

By the seven rings of hell, why did humans never fail to bring that subject up? "If that inquiry was meant as joke, I'd be just as happy to ride in silence." He said, not looking at him.

"No, no, no, I'm dead serious. I-uh-I wanna know how it works." The doctor claimed. "Is it transduction?"

 _Gods, so help me._ He slowly craned his head to stare at the mortal.

"The transfer of genetic material from organism to the other by a viral agent." Goodweather explained like his reaction to the previous question was one of confusion.

"I have told you of this process before." Quinlan resumed gazing out the dirty cab window. "I was conceived by two humans, just like yourself but at some point my biological mother was stung by the Master."

"Turned," He nodded.

"Infected." Quinlan countered, removing the special designed glasses.

"So what's that mean for you then?" Ephriam turned onto another deserted road.

"What exactly?" He pretended not to know this conversation was heading in the direction Quinlan detested speaking about in hopes the doctor would give up.

He waved his hands. "Um, since you being half human and all, does the _strigoi_ DNA restrict certain... activities?"

Every. Single. Damn. Time. "Should you be implying whether or not I can perform intimacy on a psychical level, the answer is none of your concern." He growled.

* * *

 

Ylva discovered him wallowing in his sorrow shortly after Ancharia's death. She claimed to be able to feel his depression far and that is what lead her from the clove of rock and darkness she hid herself inside. The female Born took him back to where she settled and offered what she could.

This tragic event caused whatever he felt towards Ylva before to evolve into a unbearable ache for a comfort only she could provide. Quintus was unsure how to word this need to her. He acted on pure instinct alone. Ylva grew angry at his advances. Growling and spitting harsh half truths to his face.

Until one day that thin thread of control and patience snapped. He followed her to go hunting and attempted once more to convey what he wanted. Ylva rounded on him with a wicked snarl.

Quintus fell back with a solid thud into the snow covered earth. The dhampir upon him in the bat of an eye, straddling his hips and leering at him. He stared up at her, pale blue eyes wide. His strength out matched her own yet she was faster.

Tilting his chin up, he attempted to capture her lips in a kiss but she bit at them. Her unnatural coloured orbs narrowed. Ylva was a more feral creature than he, that was proven the night they met. Instinct told him to overthrow her, take her how his urges demanded, but a faint whisper chilled the burning liquid fire pumping through his body.

Relent, give in, appease her.

A century of tension drummed between them as he debated this. Hissing at his sloth decision process, Ylva moved to get up when Quintus pulled her down. She went to berate him when she noticed he bared his throat. She paused, studying him.

 _Don't leave._ His tone truly pitiful.

Ylva smirked as his want reduced the warrior to be into such a state. Leaning over him, hands returned to caging his wrists, she chirped with a taunt in his mind.

_Why should I stay?_

His gaze left her, suddenly interested in the ground. Ylva purred, sinking lower; fur clad breasts pushing ever so slightly against his chest. She nuzzled the sharp cheek bones that enhanced his face, breathing in the scent of human, blood and pine.

_You must have a reason..._

Unable to give a proper response without sounding like a weakling, Quintus shifted so his erection that throbbed beneath the pelt would rub against her. Ylva trilled, peppering soft kisses down his jaw.

_Ahh, how could I be so ignorant of something so obvious?_

Her thighs released their iron grip on his sides and widened. She settled over his strain and rocked against it, purring as he growled. Quintus made to come forward but she quickly reacted; her fingers curled into a vice and her fangs located his jugular then bit down harshly.

A strangled growl and groan echoed in the woods.

 _You will not move._ Ylva warned, her grinding movement ceased. _Do so, and I will rip your throat open._

He stared at her with a mixed expression of confusion, fear and arousal.

 _Have you ever had a female?_ She asked, tracing the column of his jaw with the tip of her nose.

Quintus shook his head. _I have not._

The female Born sighed. _I shall have to teach then, won't I?_

Releasing one his arms, Ylva pressed down on his sternum with an open palm making him flat. That hand traveled to his mouth, skimming over the flesh there.

_But I think I'll have some fun first._

She ensnared his lips in a kiss that seared him to his very core. It was rough, greedy, and lustful. He returned the intense fervor, grasping the back of her neck. Ylva grinned in the kiss and removed that hand back to it's original position. Quintus began to protest but it was cut off when her small dark pink tongue darted past his teeth.

Ylva took advantage of his breathy gasp and swirled her tongue around his, stroking it, licking every crevice she could find.

He shuddered. Her taste was foremost blood and purely wild. Everything about this lithe creature that pleasured him was riotous, uncontrolled. The heat that flared between from their own high temperatures and the passion she engulfed him in would surely roast him alive.

If this was the price he'd have to suffer for this contact then he would gladly endure it a thousand times over.

Their saliva coated flesh coiled together, sucking and twisting. The bizarre activity awoke the stinger lurking below. It roused in peculiar interest and inched until it brushed against another. The organs squealed and retreated causing the Born to break the contact, a trail of spit to thread between their mouths until it popped.

She sat up, unclasping Quintus' wrists. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching. His own stinger clicking in interest.

Ylva growled and summoned her feeding organ. Before it could fully unfold from her lips, she gnashed her fangs down on it.

 _Mind your business._ It gave out a shrill cry at the mistreatment before vanishing under her tongue.

Once that was taken care of, Ylva refocused on Quintus but was a second too late. He already re-positioned them where she was seated in his lap, his member twitching against her soaked mound. She was distracted by the contact and allowed him to capture her mouth. His strokes of the tongue were clumsy and desperate but Ylva enjoyed the feel of him; the outline of his muscle and boiling heat made her dizzy.

A slight brush of knuckles against her core knocked her from the spell and made her snarl viciously.

Biting on his lower lip enough to draw a pearlescent droplet snapped him back. Quintus growled at her behavior. _What?_

 _What did I tell you?_ Her black claws brushed over the ornate swirls decorating his neck.

He blinked, the third eyelid clapping together. _Do not move?_

Ylva nuzzled his nose. _Correct._

She smacked his hands away only to uptake them. Ylva glanced at him with red and gold eyes. Quintus merely stared back. _Lay back._

A head tilt was his reply. She hissed in irritation. Flinching, Quintus obeyed. Ylva was flush against his loins now and it drove him mad. He wanted to be done with this infuriating play and be inside her. The desire and feelings barely made any real sense but it's all he understood right this moment.

 _My patience is thinning._ He growled.

 _Weep then._ Ylva snapped in his mind, digging the tips of her talons in the meat of his hands.

Quintus groaned. Satisfied with his defeat and frustration, Ylva placed his palms on the slope of her belly. She slowly guided him upwards, the pads of his fingers pressing into skin wanting to stay and feel the smooth flesh beneath.

_Heed your nails._

He asked what she meant but instead, he felt what she talking about. Soft and round glands of flesh his grasp eclipsed. Ylva purred, the noise rumbling through him. In response he purred back, kneading the peaks. She did not feel as endowed like some human concubines Quintus saw come and go in the slavers camp yet that mattered little. They fit perfectly in his palms as she were created for him.

She coaxed him into being less gentle with them, massaging the buds of flesh, and rolling her taut nipples between his thumb and finger. Her gasps and mewls were like siren calls to his ears. Quintus abandoned her breasts, with a protesting whine from her, and drug his claws down her sides; taking hold of her waist. He thrust his pelvis upwards, meeting her dripping sex. Ylva moaned and ground back against him wantonly.

 _Ylva, now. Please_. Quintus panted, pressing hard into her covered entrance.

Her thoughts were becoming muddy and unclear of what she wanted to do with him but there would be more interactions like this. As this was Quintus' first time engaging, he would be hooked on her, sniffing after her like a dog in heat.

Gesturing for him to once again lay, Ylva reached down between them and slid her hand around his swollen shaft. Quintus let out a tortured groan tinged with the strung pitch of his stinger. It became stiffer in her hold, if it even could any more, Quintus thought.

She leaned over him, stroking him slowly and vexing. Their foreheads pressed up to one another as Ylva slid her hand up and down his borderline painful erection. He panted, heavy breathes that puffed in the night air. Needing more friction, he thrust in her hand trying to get what his body wanted. Her palm became slick.

 _Ylva, please! I c-can't... keep this...up!_ Quintus begged, nuzzling and nipping her throat, attempting to encourage mercy.

Ylva snarled and pushed their pelts away enough for her to guide him inside. She impaled herself on his member, coming to a full hilt. Quintus released a vicious bellow of pleasure and stilled. The pairs clicks and rumbles vibrated through the area of connection and tingled their spines.

_C-Can...I move?_

Nodding, she rolled her hips into his. He trembled at the feeling. She was so warm, wet, and tight. Pulling almost completely out, he slammed back in quickly. Ylva grabbed onto the back of his thigh, hiking it up to support her.

A pale hand pressed on her lower back, shoving her further down on him. Ylva moaned at the feel of him. Quintus was definitely bigger than she first imagined. Her eyes fluttered each time he managed to hit her spot. For a novice, with his desperate and fast bucking, he wasn't too bad. She would welcome his future advances if he chose to do so.

His pelvis was damp with her excitement as it dripped from her lower lips coating his cock. Quintus' breath was growing ragged. The hot bubble of pressure was building; so close to bursting. He snarled and grabbed Ylva by her bottom, claws slicing the skin, and began to pound into her ruthlessly. She moaned his name at the increased pace.

Her little gasps and pants tightening the knot in his belly. Suddenly her muscles contracted and clenched around him. Ylva cried out, raking her talons down his back and giving him a deep bite on his shoulder; drawing blood. He hissed at puncture, his thrusts becoming erratic. Quintus came into an end inside her with a trembling roar, clutching her thighs and gasping for unneeded air. Ylva cooed at him, licking at his neck wound and tracing circles in his shoulder blades.

He paused, soaking in what just happened. She was still so warm inside he didn't want to withdraw. Quintus purred, taking in her scent and finding his own mixed in.

A possessive wave crashed in his breast. "Mine," He growled out loud, sucking on her collar bone.

* * *

It was almost ridiculous the amount of disappointing radiating from Dr. Goodweather. He rolled his eyes behind the glasses. Quinlan would not put up with this childish behavior from a middle aged human this entire ride.

"I cannot sire offspring either infant or _strigoi_ if that states your infuriating curiosity." Quinlan mumbled.

The small beam of happiness in the man's aura nearly made Quinlan jump from the moving vehicle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder what Duncan gave Fet and the professor? Find out next chapter. ;)


	6. Pandora's Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second posting of this chapter thanks whatever happened to Ao3 during the night. It was all a mess when I woke up this morning. I'm sorry for that. 
> 
> Thanks again for the comments! They are greatly appreciated. :)
> 
> Enjoy?

Ephraim watched from the pier in awe and horror as the Master was beheaded, struck down and killed, but Quinlan didn't move. He fell as the blade finished slicing through the pale skin; sundering the muscle and bone. His mind went to work trying to decipher exactly what just happened.

The Born mentioned he'd die also when the Master met his end. That didn't make any damn sense! There was no logical reasoning behind that so called logic Quinlan came up with. Eph rubbed his clammy neck as he approached, mind whirling with any possible equations to give him the answer.

Setrakian stood rigid peering into the gutter's drain vent. He saw something: long, dark crimson, and thread like twist and turn in the pebbles of the road and escape into the sewers. The hairs stood up on his neck and arms. It couldn't be, God above let this be the end! He prayed.

This foreboding warning graced to him by whatever divine interference never failed him but, he glanced to the seemingly beaten Born, the professor found himself hoping against it.

Fet stood over the fallen bodies, his lips parted in disbelief. "That's it?"

The professor shook his head at his attitude and turned to see Dr. Goodweather jogging over to meet them. "This is not the movies, Mr. Fet."

Eph noticed the hurt glare Fet was sending in his direction and stopped a short distance away.

"Are they dead?" He gestured to the Master and Quinlan's unmoving forms. In normal situations, the question would have been considered ridiculous as one was missing their head but these creatures, laws of mortality didn't apply to them.

"What do you think, Doc?" Fet snorted. "Quinlan cut the bastard's head clean off!"

He frowned. "Well, yeah, but-" Eph cut himself short, not wanting to argue. "Never mind the Master. Is Quinlan alive or did his predication come true?"

It was all he could name it as there was no proof behind the half breed's cryptic statement.

"You're the medical professional here," Fet crossed his arms over his broad chest.

Ephriam sighed and marched over to Quinlan. He stared a bit, confused about how to begin checking for vital signs of life. Did he even have a heartbeat? Did his lungs even need to expand, take in oxygen for the brain? What kept the flow of blood to keep his brain in function?

What the actual fuck?

He kneeled next to the dhampir. No noticeable traces of breathing or consciousness. Damn it.

Eph swallowed nervously and reached for the jugular vein. Careful to mind the odd skin markings and inflamed flesh on the front of his throat. He prodded two fingers here and there, searching for a faint pulse. The doctor nearly lept in shock once he located a soft but existing beat.

"Holy shit," He breathed, rising to stand. "He's alive."

Fet was less than enthused at the news of the muncher thief actually surviving. "Goodie, now what do we do?"

Goodweather rubbed his gloved hands together in half chill, half scientific thrill. "Patch him up and hope he comes around. It's all we can do."

Setrakian nodded. "We need to regroup and rest. Tonight was a small victory."

The men cast the old man a dubious glance. " _Small?_ Professor, the Master is dead!" Eph exclaimed, a confused smile on his lips.

Abraham kept his morbid opinions on that to himself. Instead he gave a gruff "You're right," and returned to the hum vee leaving the two to wonder at him.

"Why does he always have to do that?" Eph asked, bewildered by the professor's shrug off.

Fet shrugged. "Dunno, old age I guess."

They dropped the subject and returned focus on Quinlan.

Ephraim jabbed his thumb at him. "Help me with him?"

Fet gave him an offended look. "I ain't touchin' him, least of all helpin' you!"

An annoyed call of the exterminator's name made the man scowl. "Fine,"

He removed the Uzi guns and snatched up the freaky bone sword, deposited them in the vehicle's trunk and ran back. Fet took Quinlan by his shoulders while Eph picked up his feet and hauled him into the back seat. The doctor took the empty space next to the unconscious vampire.

The hum vee's engine roared and they were off, heading back to the club. Fet glanced in the rear view mirror at Goodweather.

"I'll help you get him in and settled but once that's over, me and the professor got another thing to do."

He rose an interested brow. "Uh, sure, but like what?"

"That's what we're gonna figure out, doc."

They arrived safely and Fet carried out what he promised. Grabbing a long sheet of plastic, Fet stretched it over the table. The pair laid Quinlan on the steel table meant for meal prep. Eph bunched up some dish rags and shoved them under his head for support.

"We're gonna head out." Fet announced.

Neither would inform the doctor where they were going and Eph understood that. Regardless of the reason, he betrayed them. Even if that small traitor act might have saved them all.

"Be careful," He mumbled, untwisting a cap of new vodka.

He was left with himself and an unconscious hybrid of human and _strigoi_. Eph was unsure on Quinlan's healing factor worked, a few scars did riddle his profile. He had no clue how old or new those were. Either way, he should begin with addressing the bullet wounds suffered to the torso.

Undressing him was a chore in itself. The guy was heavy. Eph tossed the bloody garments in the empty sink, making a mental note to wash them later. No one knew what the Born had clothes wise as he wore the same thing every day.

The doctor glanced down at his own wardrobe.

Torn navy blue pants, sweater that made a dumpster smell like a field of roses, stolen wind breaker, and a fishing cap. His own didn't fare much better.

Quinlan's upper body was much more void of scars than he first imagined. Save for some clean slices of what Eph guessed to be from swords, lashes by a whip, then he tilt his head. A round type of scar marred the skin of his wrist. Narrowing his eyes, Eph distinguished it be a bite mark.

He made of an expression of feign ache. Who ever put that there had to possess an impressive row of teeth.

Four bullet holes, he summarized. None had pierced all the way through, Quinlan's body already appearing to be in the stages of repair. It kept them lodged inside, the amount of silver probably what was keeping him down.

Eph slid on sanitary gloves and scooped up the stitching kit.

Curiosity reared it's annoying head again.

Quinlan hadn't really given him a clear answer in the cab. He pursed his lips.

There could've been a stray bullet that lodged itself in a leg. Eph debated.

The Born would be absolutely furious with him if he woke up and discovered what he had done. Or he could not even care. Besides, it was for science right?

Eph took another shot of liquid courage and moved to remove the half breed's trousers.

* * *

 

Fet and the professor arrived to the address given to them by the unidentified security head. It was a large and by first glances, abandoned.

The windows were stained and broken in corners. Graffiti sprayed over various parts of the brick wall and steel doors. The building would've remained un-suspicious were it not for the brand new lock and chain wrapped tightly around the double door entrance.

Abraham stood before the old factory. His old eyes scanning every visible crevice.

"Something is here, Mr. Fet." That eerie feeling shot up his spine, causing his ruined fingers to curl around his faithful weapon.

The Ukrainian rolled his trusty rebar in his sweaty palm. "Then let's crack this ol' place open."

No police, construction crew, or Stoneheart employees wandered about unlike the last place the pair visited. It was appearing vacant until Fet drew closer to the establishment's rim. The rank scent of strigoi plagued the crisp winter air. "This is fresh," Setrakian noticed. "They've been here recently."

Dawn was nearly upon them but that meant little. Even in twilight these creatures could still scuttle in the shadows, watching, listening, relaying. Their approach must be a cautious one. Fet shoved the bar between the shiny coil of chain.

"Don't think it's a nest, do ya?" He nodded towards the building. The professor, while not fully agreeing, did not shoo away the possibility. Palmer believed there was something in here, that which neither Eichhorist or the Master wished him to know of. The location of a mere nesting cove would not be of grave importance.

"The road to discovery is never a simple one, Mr. Fet." He stated, unwavering in his resolve.

With a jerk and snap, the padlock was removed. Kicking aside the broken links, Fet slowly creaked the doors open. The street lamps barely made a dent in the dense darkness inside. He swallowed.

The two made their way forward against the pitch black. Their eye sight eventually shifted and became used to the lack of light. The interior was that of a normal factory; work tables, offices, and equipment every basic thing you'd think of. No hint of human or _strigoi_ lackey lurking about yet. Setrakian kept his silver blade close. Letting one's guard down was the most foolish mistake.

Minutes ticked by and no sign of any living or unliving thing. Eventually the pair discovered what they were searching for.

Rows and rows of wooden crates and wrapped items lined the storage room. Fet wet his lips, anxiety building more so. How where they gonna find this freaky package before any guard or worse, a muncher showed up? Sensing his comrade's climbing fear, the professor set a calming hand on the Ukrainian's broad shoulder.

"All will be well, Mr. Fet." The stark white slip of paper was tucked into the large man's hand. "Palmer has the cargo's serial number included. Surely there's a shipment list, a record of sorts that will tell us where the parcel has been placed."

Fet's worrisome mind went alit when the figurative light bulb switched on. Of course! "Yeah, there's gotta be a chart of the layout!"

A forgotten yellow and black forklift was parked near one towering shelve. Fet dashed over it. He searched the cockpit for any papers. Usually these guys kept a file on hand for newbies. A flash of plastic caught his eye. Hooked by a little gold snap chain onto the mirror, hung a plastic folder.

"Gotcha!" Fet snatched it off and peeled away the cover.

With the aide of the tiny flashlight tucked between his teeth, Fet located the area matching the typed number.

"Row C, level 3, item 09221970." He mumbled with the metal in his mouth.

Fet hopped into the lift, throwing the files in the back of the seat. Thankfully the keys were still in the ignition. Twisting those tiny silver keys, the engine shuddered to life. He had himself a chuckle and drove onwards.

"Beep, beep, motherfuckers! Fet is comin' through!" He hollered, the flashing yellow light going round and round.

Abe shook his head.

Riding down the tall columns, following the obnoxious warning light, they found the area. The professor could make out a long and deep box at the very top. He jabbed his cane towards it. "There, Mr. Fet!"

"On it!" Fiddling with the knobs he figured out what controlled what. The machine jerked and up the twin blades went.

Easing the tines underneath the metal container, it was secured and gently pulled back. Reversing the lift truck Fet worked his way back to the front of the line of pallets. He stopped and carefully unloaded the material. It landed with a solid thud.

"Wonder what's in it." Fet jumped off the now silent piece of machinery.

The professor didn't reply. That familiar clattering and shuffle of possessed feet echoed in the hanger. Callouses fingers curled around the wolf head.

" _Strigoi_ ," He breathed.

Fet cursed under his breath and equipped his old rebar with a loaded Python in the other grip.

Twitching shadows emerged fully under the lamp, lightening their crimson eyes and razor like teeth filled mouths.

"It's just three, we got this." Fet smirked at the odds. Setrakian was not so positive.

A high screech and the vampires dashed towards them, claws wide and stingers curling.

Fet managed to get a clear shot of the back _strigoi's_ forehead. It fell with a defeated chirp. The burly man hurled the charger past him, shucking his rebar through the skull of the second place runner, right into the professor's silver singing blade.

"Easy peasy," Fet grinned, swiping away the goo for blood off his trusted metal.

"Too easy," Abraham murmured, eyes narrow. His suspensions confirmed when that eerie gurgle echoed from the darkest corner.

A crouched figure crawled like a nightmare born into dead flesh into view. A Feeler crept closer until it stopped as if frozen to the floor. Raspy hisses emanated from it's throat as it deeply inhaled the air, scenting for what it could not see. Those sunken milky orbs widened then narrowed to slits.

"What the is that little monkey doin'?" Fet asked, weirded out by the freaky kid's agitated pacing back and forth on it's hands and feet.

The professor hadn't witnessed such behavior from one of these unfortunate lives but it appeared to be deciding what to do with them. Goodweather mentioned a while back the _strigoi_ acted much more coordinated and intelligent. Could it be possible the turned child was...

He wanted to not believe it. He prayed his old eyes were finally playing tricks on him.

_A swift change in those disturbing iris'. Vile and copper, staring through their flesh and sneering at their very souls._

The devil hath many shades and forms...

"Mr. Fet-" The Feeler snapped it's head back and released a scream so high pitched, the men winced and stepped in reverse. The creature didn't move for it's bent position as it continued to wail. Fet aimed with one cracked open eye, the intense sound it was creating too much for his ears.

A bang thundered over it, muting the unholy noise for just a second. The turned little girl and her siren call fell to an end.

"What the hell was that?!" Fet exclaimed, looking to the old man to shed some knowledge.

He was at a loss for a moment. "That... it seemed to be calling for help."

"They can do that?"

"Apparently so," Whatever was inside this container was valuable so much so, other sentinels must be alerted.

"Open it." The professor ordered.

Fet went to argue the point of any more _strigoi_ coming to answer that alarm but the Jew would not hear it.

Growling at the stubbornness of elders, Fet quickly worked on prying the wooden top off. The nails groaned but gave way. He shoved the board off and onto the ground with clack.

"It's a..." Fet rubbed his goatee.

"Another box," Abraham finished.

Nestled within the shipping package was slightly smaller box. Setrakian leaned over the side and inspected it. This was crafted out of hardy oak wood and designed to fit one body. Craved into the entire casing were words in every known language to man kind; each meaning the same. His cracked finger tips skimmed over the few he recognized.

תוֹעֵבָה.

βδέλυγμα.

Gräuel.

厭惡.

árú.

Abomination.

* * *

 

His treatment was more than likely unneeded but still, the vampire did try to help him. Speaking of that, his wounded fatherly side of his mind bristled.

"Two things of your great plan that didn't work out. One: you didn't die. Ya know, the whole myth he dies, you die. Th-that never really made sense to me."

The needle shut the hole closest to the neck. "Although, neither does how fast you appear to be healing." Eph looked incredulously at the Born's wounds which had long since ceased to bleed.

"And, uh, two," He flopped his crossed elbows on the table, next to Quinlan's head. "I don't have my son back." Eph stated, annoyed with how the entire plot went down.

Zach was still out there, with Kelly-with monsters. "That was a kinda big part of the plan for me."

"So congrats on chopping your dad's head off." Eph jimmied at the final bullet inside Quinlan's upper pectoral.

"Sorry your suicide mission didn't really work out and uh," The stubborn thing finally relented.

"Thanks, for leaving me here with nothing." He dropped the round with a unsatisfied clink into the bowl.

"Doc!" Eph turned his head towards the call of his name. Fet sounded rather urgent. Wonder what they dug up.

The doctor peeled off his gloves and made his way into the foyer. There the two stood on either side of a long and dirty box.

"What's in the box?" He asked, slightly confused.

"Crunch Berries." Fet replied flatly.

They wheeled the creepy container inside the kitchen, opposite side where Quinlan lay. A tingle ran down Ephraim's spine, chilling the bone. Whatever was inside, wasn't giving off any nice vibes.

"Gives you the heebie jeebies, huh?" Fet noticed the drain of colour in the doctor.

"Uh huh," Eph didn't know what to make of it. The shape and width, it looked like a...

"This is a God damn coffin."

Abraham took off his hat. "I believe so."

The bald man glanced between his peers. "Whose is it?!"

Fet cracked his knuckles. "Knock, knock,"

Unease at disturbing a resting place filled Eph to the brim. It was disrespectful, curse enacting, and just plain wrong. The lid slid off easily once the latches were undone. They had braced their noses for an onslaught by the unpleasantness of rot but nothing hit them.

"Who the fuck?" Fet curled his upper lip.

"Is that a _strigoi_?" Eph asked, peering at the form in question.

Setrakian moved to see. A body dressed in clothes from at least two hundred years ago lay unmoving in the coffin. Beneath the corpse was coarse and black sand like substance that reached up to the pointed ears.

"An Ancient maybe?" Fet offered.

The professor took a peek at the lid's bottom. Slashes were raked across it. Whatever this was, was put in alive and unwillingly.

"We'll leave this to you, Dr. Goodweather."

* * *

 

When the professor had been informed that Quinlan was stable, the two departed back into the main room.

Ephraim stared at his subject, unsure if patient was the correct term to use in their current state. He surveyed for any touch of life but found none. He poked here and there at nerve ending, hailing no response.

Their skin had sunk in so much it was drawn tight; bone structure, dark blue veins, and even muscle became visible. It was like the body had been saran wrapped! He'd seen dead bodies before this-this was entirely different ball game!

His limbs shivered at the random and involuntary spasm. Gross but interesting. Zach would definitely get a kick out of it.

The doctor's eyes glazed over with liquor masked hurt.

Never mind that, focus.

Tugging on brand new gloves, Ephraim bent over the dead vampire. He decided on studying the outside before preforming an autopsy. He hadn't the chance to study a half human, half strigoi up close. Quinlan being particular grumpy about breaching his personal space...

Stickler.

First step was to determine gender and age but that was impossible at the moment.

Any fat cells and other discernible features were so faded, it was hard to tell at a glance. If Eph learned anything in old English movies, judging by the outfit, this body perhaps was female, somewhere in her mid thirties?

Amongst the scars over her left eye, right cheek, and top right cranium, that stripe similar to Quinlan's ran straight down from the crown of her skull, down the bridge of the nose, and over the chapped lips to the chin. Where these their kind's birth markings? Or perhaps a sign to which Ancient they were sired from? Did each _strigoi_ or Born share these then? Where they different?

More questions and not even a single answer. Eph could remain in here with the corpse throughout the day, well into the next evening, going over inch of the corpse and not discover shit. One ear looked to be either chewed or even shot off. The area not having a clean cut that would've come from a sharpened tool.

Second degree burns suffered to the palms and knuckles due to the silver coated lid. He gently rose an arm. Broken finger nails from clawing at the surface. Eph laid the limb back down.

He returned his attention to the mouth. No one had seen Quinlan eat so they assumed he drank blood like any other strigoi. So that meant he had a stinger, right? Carefully, he stuck his two pointers between the pricking fangs to ease the jaw open only to slice his finger tips.

"Damn it!" He recoiled from the body and went to wash his cut from any bacteria or God knew what that could be festering in that mouth.

As Ephraim grumbled at the corpse, that fresh drop of blood trickled from the fang and down beneath the dry tongue onto a shriveled stinger. It jerked at the wetness. That tiny droplet roused a slumbering hunger. An ancient command. A hunger known before any other. Instinct bade the decrepit flesh to move.

**More.**

The doctor did not hear the slight trill over the sound of the water splashing against the metal sink. Nor the cracking of bones long set in paralysis or shifting sands as the torso rose to witness it's meal.

"Damn _strigoi_ ," He cursed.

A shadow rose and nearly over cast his own. He paused mid rinse as a foul breath tickled the hairs now standing straight up on his neck.

Eph slowly, cautiously, craned his sight to investigate.

A screech so dusty and forgotten yet ungodly as the first time it became heard shook his core.

The stinger bloomed fully with it's piercing petals spread forth from a cracked wide mouth and unleashed a cheer of absolute delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohohoho! Run, Eph, run! Also I put in two Easter Eggs! If you watch any Vines, one should be simple to spot. Tell me in the comments if you see them. :)
> 
> Origins for the languages used above:  
> תוֹעֵבָה (Hebrew).  
> βδέλυγμα (Greek)  
> Gräuel (German)  
> 厭惡 (Chinese)  
> árú (Igbo/African)


	7. Living Dead Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this came out so very late! Focused on other stuff and whatnot. Ready to meet our savage lady? ;)

This was not what he had been expecting.

Every scroll, tome, or scripture Quinlan happened upon about the afterlife differed from religion to religion. He had read them to appease his boredom traveling across the old world; not to state any curiosity like mortals did. The Born found he did not care what awaited on the other side. Never ending flame, eternal peace, or just a void of nothingness held no interest to him. What only mattered was the Master's death before his own.

Yet what he was experiencing was far from his expectations.

Familiar scents and sounds surrounded him like a blanket of comfort. Instead of scorching punishment or grey in between of purgatory, he felt content; safe. These alien feelings made Quinlan pry his eyes open to investigate. Arctic hues spied a layout he hadn't seen in nearly a thousand years.

This most definitely not what Quinlan had been expecting.

It was a cellar, dark and filled with the smell of earth. He stared up at the clay ceiling. That damned crack, visible only to his keen sight, still there, the one he promised to fix once he returned...

_Impossible._

The clutter of dishes and laughter of a child echoed down from above. He remained fast to the soil, unable to fully process this enigma. He shouldn't be here. He couldn't be here! Brushing off the shock of it all, Quinlan decided to face his ghosts.

Taking tentative steps up those familiar wooden stairs, the Barbarian Gladiator rounded the corner which lead to his resting place and came to behold a view only in his memories now.

A waterfall of course raven locks poured down over her small shoulders down to the curves of her waist. Her sun kissed skin glittered in the light as beads of sweat rolled from the chore. She hummed as she always did, the noise lovely.

_This... this couldn't be real._

Before he could breathe her name past his lips the back door clattered open with a forceful gust, revealing a mass of darkened and angry clouds forming over the treeline. The wind churned the branches with a vicious howl. Beneath it all, the limbs creaking, leaves shaking, and the air buzzing with threatening static, a voice being swallowed by the overwhelming noises felt as it were calling out to him.

The dhampir returned his perplexed gaze back to the Dark Haired Woman only to discover she had vanished along with the light. The house had grown cold and distant. Tearing his eyes away from the hollowing sight, Quinlan exited the house and ventured down the trail that lead to the ocean.

Down and down he went through the winding dirt road; the closer he became to the shore, mist crawled from the foliage and crept around his ankles like icy snakes. This chill did not reside in his native home. Once the grey salt waters came into view, Quinlan understood he was not in Italy anymore.

The rolling ocean waves crashed onto even darker sands. The atmosphere thick and heavy with frost. His breath came out in puffs of steam. Quinlan realized he had been here before; once had called this place home as well. Scanning the nearby area, nothing seemed amiss or anyone visible he could recognize. Taking a few more cautious and hesitant steps toward the line of water, which his _strigoi_ half recoiled with each footfall, Quinlan peered into the waves.

A crack of thunder roared above him.

Gently being lulled back and forth was necklace he had gifted almost over a thousand years ago to Ylva. Snatching it from the shore line, Quinlan tucked the item away as if the mass body of water were to steal it back. Mist began to roll in from the far north. He shook his head.

Quinlan despised weather like this. Any type of nature formation that involved the aide of the sea made his flesh crawl.

Turning to go back from whence he came, the half-breed came face to face with an obstacle.

A tall but ragged white wolf stood, blocking his path. It was not holding a stance of hostility but one of agony. Black talons dug deep in the bed of sand and jagged fangs set in a grimace. He took notice of one striking feature.

The animal was staring him down with a familiar pair of eyes, one crimson and other a bright amber. Quinlan stood his ground against the beast. His left arm poised to guard if need be. It glared at the scar embedded in his skin.

At the that the beast lunged, aiming for his throat, with a sorrowful cry piercing the crashing waves and howling winds... Quinlan was awaken by the sound of shattering plates and a strangled cry of protest suddenly cut off.

* * *

 

_Where am I?_

Her head felt stuffed with cotton. A bloody haze tainted her blurred vision. Lights blared down upon her old eyes from a source she did not recognize. The rush of blood flooded her acute ears like a thundering waterfall.

_Why does everything ache?_

Her limbs felt filled with lead but pulsed with the pain of starvation. That damned parasite of an organ twisting and churning like a burning snake in the wake of the mortal's heart beat. It startled once it finally sensed her presence behind it, so near and so very close. Taking the name of its deity in vain, it fled.

_Why anyone praised that ever silent God, I'll never comprehend._

_S_ he snarled at the shiny square item that hit her forehead. It dove behind a counter, clothes rustling as it frantically searched for any form of defense. These creatures were yet the same foolish sacks of blood and bones, desperately clinging to the illusion of superiority.

_Struggling is futile but do so if you must. The act just makes you taste that much sweeter..._

The stinger trilled in gluttonous excitement as she hopped onto the surface and leered at the cowering meal. It tried the act of calming her dooming advance, hands up in truce. She cared not for the lies or truths the mortal, a male the closer she became to the underlining scent.

In fact, the only result he created was her body convulsing in twitches like her mindless kin. This happened when the hunger grew too dominate, too demanding.

Her lips opened for the feeding organ to strike. It blossomed fully, the three petals wide and poised for the launch. A holler sounded from over her shoulder. She was too focused on the current prey to dodge in time.

A boomed echoed in the small area just as her stinger sprung and latched onto the flesh. Her lids closed in a blissful expression, drinking heavily in a greedy rush until a blistering burn erupted in the ball of her shoulder. She released the human with a wicked scream.

Whirling to face her attacker, she picked up on movement close by. A signature that once was faint now grew in strength and was coming for her. Snarling at the offender, she darted out of sight once two more rushed in. Glass shattered all around her, facing the infernal sun, and she was gone.

* * *

 

Quinlan stood clutching the window sill utterly stupefied. He watched as the _strigoi_ escaped, going farther and farther into the infected city. Disbelief shackled him to that spot even once it was completely gone.

The half-breed and professor came to Mr. Fet's aide in total readiness to take down a minion of his father's but was struck confounded by what they stumbled in on. The old man saw a mere _strigoi_  pawn attempting to drain a member of his group. Quinlan witnessed a woman he once believed was dead. A woman he still cared dearly for.

**Ylva.**

He bit his tongue, forcing to keep her name silent. They just beheld her trying to, unsuccessfully, feed on the doctor. Any trust that could have been founded was already unthinkable. The exterminator especially would want her head for the transgression. Quinlan would have much work on his hands if he could convince her to stay.

A small smirk appeared on his lips, unbeknownst to the others. Barely returned to his life and already she was causing him trouble. Typical...

"What the hell was that?!" Fet exclaimed, motioning to the destroyed window and Ephraim's bleeding jugular.

The doctor winced and dabbed the tiny bleeding mark she left on him. "That thing came out of the coffin you brought here!"

Coffin? Quinlan relinquished his unforgiving hold on the wood and turned now to his human companions. What all occurred when he was in that... unresponsive state?

"You told us it was dead!" The big man shouted back at the accusation.

The professor sighed, sliding his sliver blade back into its sheath with a _shuck!_ He looked to the Born for answers. "Mr. Quinlan, what do you make of this?"

He could tell in the old one's steely eyes that he had an assumption of who just attacked and darted out of the building. The professor seemed to never miss a single detail. A reason why Quinlan could rely on him. Also why he needed his complete trust and discretion right now.

"That is what I am going to find out, professor." He left two confused humans and one suspicious elder in the ruins of the kitchen to fetch the remainder of his clothing and departed from the club. The Born had to be hasty in catching up with her. Otherwise it would be unhealthy for any who crossed her path.

Nearly two hundred years unable to quench the thirst and she was finally loose to state it. Plus the passed years would not be easy on her frantic mind. So much had developed while she was locked away.

In a coffin, he growled. Quinlan felt the sting of total failure stab at him. Ylva had been hidden from him by a simple box! How she must have fought the confines of her prison being enraged and terrified of being sealed away. Eventually her desperate clawing and thrashing ceased into screams and cries; cursing whoever trapped her. He wondered if she called out for him in the darkness of the tomb.

Quinlan paused in his long strides at the vicious bite of anger and sorrow he felt at the thought.

They had not been separated on the best of terms... His eyes narrowed. His mind focused on a different, more important matter. Who had the strength to capture Ylva, the ability to even sneak up on the female Born? She was adept at rolling with surprises and holding her own. None but perhaps...

_Damn it all..._

Quinlan had not blamed his father at first when Ylva did not return. The idea did not come to mind until months went by and he could not locate her in anyway shape or form. She had kept tight chains on her mind for long periods but as the centuries piled on and on, as their fellow Born died, Ylva did not practice it unless absolutely necessary.

He let out a wicked snarl as his boot connected with the steel letter box and sent it flying across the abandoned street. The feat would be disgustingly easy to an Ancient. Subduing her with the power of their 'murmur', which felt more like head splitting scream. While the Born were free of their Old Ones' Voice, that power did have sway over them.

Of course the devil stole from him again! Anyone Quinlan held close ended up turned or forced his own hand to keep them from becoming his. Rage seethed inside his soul at the final play against him. The Master should be grateful he was already dead...

A rapid succession of gunfire muffled a startled screech meters ahead of him. Dread iced his veins. Quinlan hadn't been aware of how many blocks he darted over and he was quite the distance from the compound. Who knew what he run into or what.

Picking up at his full speed Quinlan hoped whoever they were, was not shooting at her.

A riled but short lived bellow died out on the air. Quinlan carefully stepped over two drained men that lay dead near the front. Further down, secluded in the overcast shadow the architecture provided, sitting on the damp ground was Ylva clutching to a fading human.

Another casuality lay near the dumpster; their neck twisted in likeness of a spring. He must have been the one who tried to defend his comrade against Ylva's impending thirst. It was not a random, mindless drone of his fathers they faced. The strategy of cornering the female Born was a mistake that always ended well in her favor.

She heard his approach. That _strigoi_ twitch ticking every other second as she stared him down. Her once full lips bloody due to her rushed feeding, curled back in a fang baring snarl to keep his distance. In her current state, she was unpredictable. He had no idea the condition of her mind, if she even remembered him. Quinlan had never before witnessed one of his kind put into such a predicament and those unknown factors gave no contribution to their situation.

He ceased his steps once they were about five feet apart. Her miscoloured eyes watched him intently.

"Yo, what's taking you slow shits so long?" An incoming voice yelled.

Three bloodbeats were traveling back to this area. The pack circling around for the stragglers. Ylva perked up at the advancing mortals; her sunken eyes flicking to the side where they would appear. The sight of their men lifeless and both of them standing amongst the corpses would not bode a cheerful outcome. He had to get Ylva to move.

"Drop it." He hissed, bending to her level with steely glare.

She hissed defiantly at him, clutching the nearly empty vessel with greedy claws. She wouldn't budge until she had every last drop.

"What the fuck is this?!" Damn it. Quinlan rose with a gurgled sigh.

He watched them from the rim of his hood as they took in the scene. The middle male was quicker putting two and two together while his goons stood there in shock. His brown eyes darted between Quinlan's sword and Ylva's hunched form.

"They're those damn freaks!" He roared, whipping out a revolver. The gears in the pistol clicking ready to fire. Ylva growled lowly at the sound. He had to move now. She was too stubborn to do so herself.

In a blur of motion to the human eye, Quinlan effectively disarmed the thug and rendered him unconscious. The man to the right finally snapped into action and tried to hit him with a steel baseball bat. He swiftly dodged the swing, reached out for the attacker's wrist and broke it with a effortless twist. An unforgiving punch to the center of his face, the man fell.

Quinlan felt the remaining fellow rush up behind him but he was sideswiped by Ylva. She had dropped the husk of a mortal and grabbed the live one by the scruff of his shirt and sent him flying into opposite brick wall; cracking his skull wide open.

She swayed, dizzy from the sudden exertion. He could feel her inner turmoil now. Ylva was a swarming nest of confused and pained wasps; buzzing and biting in every direction, striving to understand.

"Qu-Qui-" She tried to say his name but groaned and grabbed her head.

Quinlan spoke to Ylva in her native language, hoping it would settle her some. "Det är okej, kom med mig." *It's all right, come with me*

He didn't dare to enter her mind to convey that. She was too distraught and the invasion would set her off again.

She stared up at him with her wide red and amber eyes. Her unsettled disposition bothered him greatly. Shrugging off his coat, he dressed her in it. The morning was still bright and grew worse with each passing minute. It was large on her abused frame but covered the mild burns on her open skin.

Snatching her wrist, he fled with her in tow. Ylva followed with some struggle. The changed world overwhelming. Quinlan felt her thirst grow parched once more. Glancing over his shoulder he wondered how much more she would have drink in order to regain her former sense of self.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered.

She twitched; eyes flickering between him and the plague ridden city. "H-Hu-hungry,"

"I know just keep following me." Quinlan tightened his grip on her.

He was torn on where to take Ylva. The club was not in good spirits to receive her right this second. The Ancients' dwelling and personal selection was out of the question. But she had to feed and fast. Quinlan faintly remembered a clinic was passed going after her. Those facilities had some bags of blood on hand, did they not?

Tugging her gently to pick up the pace, he headed there.

Scattered traces of personal files littered the glass covered steps. He approached cautiously, not scenting any strigoi or mortal within. Ylva petered in her advance when a heartbeat drummed around the bend. She whined and tried to peel off Quinlan's hold. He swiftly brought her to a halt and drug the starved Born back.

"Leave it." He hissed.

Ylva twisted as the beat grew closer. "Hungry...!"

Quinlan frowned. He stopped, moving his hands to cradle her thinned face. "I know, I know. There is substance inside, trust me."

Her expression was so sad that made Quinlan's heart pinch. "Please, Ylva? You remember me. You know I'll find you something to drink."

A hint of realization lit her mismatched orbs. "Quintus," She purred, nuzzling into his palms.

"Yes. Now come on," She obeyed without strife.

The interior was a frazzled mess like many other sites. Chairs were knocked over. Plant pots shattered. Blood prints painted the walls and floors. A phone made that God awful beeping sound as it lay on its side, off the hook. His gaze darted hopelessly to the doors that lead further inside to the areas of various care. Where would they keep the blood? Quinlan was not familiar with these types of things.

Ylva was highly impatient and sniffed the air eagerly. Her stinger clicked with a happy trill and she took off.

"Ylva!" He whispered harshly, dashing after her.

He located her in a see through room fumbling with a mini refrigerator. Her sense hadn't returned to normal yet to comprehend reason so she just shook the contraption. Quinlan grit his jaw to refrain grinning at her childish behavior.

Slowly coming around to her side, he enveloped her hand. "Press the button then pull it," He instructed.

Ylva hissed at him but did as he said. The chilling unit was still operable meaning the contents within where fine. It opened much to Ylva's surprise. There was only a handful left but perhaps enough to restore her for brief time.

She narrowed her eyes at the packets.

He chuckled. "Here, I'll show you."

Quinlan didn't partake in live feedings much anymore due to his vow of honoring his wife's humanity. He purchased these regularly, only going on the hunt when traveling. It was just one of the hungers he starved over the years. Grabbing the six pouches up, Quinlan shut the door and motioned her to follow. This room felt too out in the open.

Closing them in an office and pushing a bookcase in front of the door, a mental note of the vents and window, Quinlan turned to Ylva. She was standing there vexed. Her cracked claws digging into the material of her trousers and intently staring at the blood bags in his overcoat pocket.

"Come here," He removed one and ripped off the top.

She was before him in a blink. Her eyes round as she smelled the blood. "It's cold," Quinlan warned, tilting the container to her chapped mouth.

She latched on without anymore motivation. Ylva's lips down turned with a sour look as the blood hit her palate but didn't refuse it. Quinlan repeated the action with the dwindling packets. Her form filled out more with each drop. On the last Ylva gently took it from his hand and leaned into his chest, drinking slowly.

He purred at her contact and wrapped a secure arm about her waist. It felt so foreign it had been so long since one enacted touching him.

Ylva ceased drinking once the container was empty. "Quinlan," She murmured now, fingers knotting in his vest. "What's happened?"

The Born sighed. There was so much to tell her. "What do you last remember?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient and your kind comments! They mean a lot! Hopefully I will be able to get a chapter or two out before Christmas, if my laptop will honor me by continuing to work! Dx


	8. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shit. I literally hate this chapter so much. I've written over SIX FUCKING TIMES! And it still won't come out like I want it to. I hate keeping whoever reads this on such a long wait but some of this I am having issues getting out of my head, onto paper.

The past was blurry and undefined. Thanks to the degenerative state she had been in for a long period of time, her mind was slow and groggy. However, the blood worked its healing process as she felt the tinkling numb sensation flow out of her nerves, setting them alive once more. As Ylva desperately dug through the muddy memories, shame prickled the flesh on the back of her neck.

She had acted so foolishly that night; stomping out of the flat like a disgruntled child. Their argument was utterly trivial once Ylva thought back on it with a clear head. She had let her temper handle her and it guided her to a trap.

Something **it** had counted on.

The creature, the fallen brother, that had the gall to call itself _The Master_ knew first hand of her ruthless nature and heated temperament. It had been discovered by Ylva shortly after the atrocious act it committed upon the Berber Woman and her child. She chased the defiler down in a fury, herding towards Quinlan's vengeful sword in Tortosa. The urge to behead the devil and gift it to him was strong and very gratifying in her mind, but she ignored it for him.

All she did in her lifetime was for him, whether or not he agreed entirely.

But that was not the subject to focus on at this time. No, she had to remember who damned her to the dark pit; leaving to her insanity, praying for death only to be denied.

"I remember..." She started softly, watching as her brain began to recall.

_The cream coloured office trickled away to the rainy slums of England past, to a flat that may very possibly no longer stand. Keeping out of plain sight, discussing what their next move was to be. His suggestion that sent Ylva into a fury. The streets were glum and vacant due to the heavy rainfall. A static voice called out, more than once. It went ignored._

The shame burned hotter as more became clear to her.

S _o distracted and disconnected Ylva was, she did not notice the phantom following her. Eyes like feverish coals burned from the shadows. A familiar voice echoed behind. One second was all it took. Horror at the form standing before her shackled her enough for the voice to scream._

"It-your father, it tricked me." Ylva growled.

_Rough hands took hold of her wobbling body. Hands that belonged to the dead._

"Throne... it was Throne. It turned him." She whispered.

_The corrupted form of the once free Born cackled madly at her weakened state. Ylva crumbled to the stony ground, unable to fend off neither the scream or maddening laughter. It circled her, chuckling at her predictable behavior, at yet another victory over its bastard son._

"Then... it was just too much,"

_The overlapping tones of its voice grew so loud and heavy, building and building until it rendered her unconscious._

"Darkness was what I knew next."

_It was pitch dark space, dense and cramped. As the mental fatigue slowly wore off, her ire was provoked once again. A multitude of voices snickered at her, mocked her. Ylva remembered roaring at all of them, promising death to each. Her fists boiled with every defiant pound against the silver coating the box's inner lid. Its voice taunting her, telling her that struggling was futile._

"It told me this is what happened to those who got in its way."

_Countless paces were made while she was busy writhing and hollering. Her physic calls for help bouncing back into her mind causing it grow dizzy. The box scrapped pavement. She stilled._

"I know not the location where I was... sealed away."

_Ylva's pace of breath came out in short pants as the following disclosed itself. She felt weightless before against a surface then, falling slowly. How that tiny crate of darkness became her hell. Each useless strike at the lid adding more and more sting to her defeat._

_Her absolute fear had been realized._

_Eventually, Ylva's body shut down to lack of nourishment. Hibernate was the only solution. Otherwise, she was to sure to perish beneath the waves after the countless rise and fall of the sun and moon._

Ylva's orbs widened as much as psychically possible. By the Norns...

"Quinlan," She stepped away from him, dread filling her posture. "Where are we?"

Her mismatched eyes took in his article of clothing, his pitiful expression. " _When_ are we? How long was I in there?"

Quinlan tried to reach out and bring her back but she shook him off, demanding. " _How long_?"

He lowered his arm. "I searched everywhere for you. The days turned onto weeks and weeks onto months then years." Quinlan whispered. "Ylva, I believed you to be dead."

"That's not an answer, Quintus." She snapped, using his old name. A habit Ylva formed when she became upset with him.

"It has been nearly two hundred years," He murmured, watching her reaction carefully.

Ylva twitched. She took three buckling steps backwards, hitting the forgotten desk. That was not what she expected. It could've been worse, she debated. Yet the weight of the information still pressed on her chest.

**Two centuries.**

Quinlan approached her, crouching before her stupefied being. "Please hear me, Ylva." His blue eyes peering up at her imploringly. "I looked for you. Believe me. Each passing moment I thought of nothing but finding you." He took her thin hands in his gloved ones. "The decades stacked and finally, with a more bleeding heart, I accepted you weren't returning."

"I know I am cruel," Ylva spoke meekly. "But I would never treat you in such a manner."

She didn't deserve this man's devotion. All the horrid things she spat in his face, abandoning him more than once, running from him because of her childish fear. Ylva wished she had expired inside that box.

The Born tipped her chin upwards with two fingers, almost glaring down at her. "I can feel your disappointment in surviving. _Never_ ," He growled. "Regret that you endure where so many have fallen."

"I did not once, in all these years, blame you. It was the inevitable that I embraced. He took another from me. One I cherished long before I understood what I was capable of experiencing." He leaned into her, their foreheads brushing.

Ylva steeled herself. Conflict toiled within her breast. Did she have the right to live again? Should not another more deserving being stand here, together with him? Almost two thousand years on this earth, and what had Ylva done with that precious time that was stolen from so many?

**Wasted it.**

She gently nudged him away, gaze remaining locked to the carpeted floor. He looked at her in a twist of confusion and sorrow. Ylva once again managed to hurt him. It shouldn't yet surprise her, but it does.

"Let's go. I wish to see the outside." The last female Born said in a wistful breath.

* * *

 

Quinlan didn't refuse her request but asked that they remain out of sight as many of the unclean still roamed, controlled or not. It was a risk that would not be taken lightly. He never wanted to look into a beloved's crimson and lifeless stare ever again.

Ylva listened and stuck by his side, discretely traveling back to the club. She acted just how he thought she would. Those mismatched yet lovely eyes wide with wonder at the building's stature, at the many stores that lined the near empty streets. Quinlan had to pull her along a few times when her attention was snagged by a piece of technology.

Then came the rapid execution of questions. Her mind in the state of a youngling discovering something entirely brand new. He answered each to the best of his ability. Quinlan was not simple in the way of the modern world and it's advancements just not well practiced. The excitement turned down a few degrees when the surrounding became more and more in shambles.

"Where is this? What's happened?" He saw out of his peripheral vision Ylva scenting the air, smelling their unholy kin everywhere. She had come across many covens in her years but never one in such size. However, this was not a simple increase in numbers.

He explained their whereabouts. Ylva wrinkled her nose. "The Americas? So it's shit like I assumed it would be!"

He remembered the faint and brief conversation about visiting here. Ylva despised humans and _strigoi_ alike. Getting her to agree going to a place where they existed in hordes made her refuse outright. Her exact response went so, _"I hate children Quinlan, why in the Hel would I desire to visit a continent filled to the brim with larger ones?"_

"It doesn't have much to offer no."

Quinlan held no real interest in coming to the States. The past two hundred years left him docile, detached. Hence the reasoning behind Vaun's previous role. He was a talented _strigoi_ that passed Quinlan's expectations. In fact, Vaun had been probably the best Hunter he personally trained. Thus leaving him in charge of keeping a watchful eye out for any surfacing of his father didn't cross his mind twice.

Vaun had been the rare occasion in where Quinlan was proven wrong. He had acted hastily to gain an upper hand. It cost the Hunter his life. Another solider taken from the board, another comrade lost to his father's web, another loss Quinlan would mourn until his own end.

His grip unconsciously tightened on Ylva's hand.

**No more.**

The female dhampir quickly snatched her mitt back to her person. He shouldn't have felt any sort of negativity towards her attitude but he did. Quinlan paused mid step to question her when a voice hollered from ahead.

"Don't tell me you're bringin' dat back in here!?"

Fet stood outside the entrance, thick arms crossed over his broad chest with a sneer on his face. Quinlan sighed. This would be difficult...

He attempted to reach out to Ylva through a mental link but she shielded herself just as he brushed against her mind. It added more to his irritation. Quinlan did not need this right now.

"Behave," He growled a warning under his breath, walking towards the upset big man.

Much to Quinlan's relief, Ylva followed without further prodding. Fet's begrudged stance crumbled as Quinlan advanced with her in tow without a hint of pausing for debate. He stumbled out of the dhampir's path.

"Sh-she ain't welcome here! She bit Goodweather!" Fet shouted after them in the foyer.

"Funny how you are so quick to come to his side now, Mr. Fet." Quinlan countered, knowing the man was still hurt by their 'treachery'.

Ylva's glare was burning as she watched from over her shoulder at the tension between the pair. Her annoyance building with Fet's outrage. He had to separate these two for a moment.

Her nose scrunched. "I believed I recognized your scent. You shot me."

He scoffed. "Vhat was I supposed to do? You were drinking our doctor!"

Quinlan noted the lack of emotional tie by the choice of noun. Angry as he may be, Fet and the physician were stuck together for now.

Ylva shrugged. "He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am not fully to blame. Besides, his blood was horrid. It ran thick with spirits and narcotics!"

Fet cast her a dubious glance. "You're lyin'!"

She rounded on him, eyes narrow and lips slightly parted. Quinlan could see her stinger curl under her tongue, brushing just behind her teeth. He stepped closer to her in case he would need to intercede.

"You dare call me liar? You nothing of me! What reason would I have to speak such accusations?" She snapped, inching closer.

"Because I don't trust munchers, even half ones! You both drink human blood like those fallen outside. Pretending you're one of us, when I know damn well he'd," He pointed at Quinlan. "Would throw me, the professor, all of us under the bus for any chance at the Master! I'm not gonna accept that, goddammit!"

Quinlan was one second too slow in capturing her elbow. Ylva slipped through his fingers and was upon Fet like snake. She grasped him by the throat and slammed him down into the granite floor, crouched over his dumbstruck form. Violent twitches escaped making her appear as the very ones Fet was just describing.

"Shall I remedy you of that worry?" She proposed, fang slowly opening to display her fully roused stinger.

Fet struggled wildly in her iron hold. Ylva did not waver.

"Enough." Quinlan removed her in a flash and was almost to the stairs before Vasily recollected himself.

"I was fucking right! Can't trust her! A _strigoi_ is a _strigoi_ , no matter what else is floatin' around in that blood of yours!" He spat.

Ylva thrashed in his grip. "I am not a stri-"

The male Born interrupted her with a harsh tone. "Continue to bait her, Mr. Fet, and I will set her loose."

He paled for a second. Ylva paused, startled. Quinlan seldom rose his voice at anyone.

"Take the elevator." Quinlan ordered, tugging her up the steps. They heard another comment mid way. Fet yelling after them about walking too damn fast. Ylva hissed but made no move other than keeping forward. Both the half-breeds ignored the obnoxious human and went to the top floor.

He came to a halt half way down the hall in front of a door. Quinlan drug Ylva by her arm to it. She wiggled her limb in his hold, snarling. "Release me!"

He complied, opening the room and shoving her inside it. Ylva frowned at him until he took her face into his gloved hands.

"Do you understand what you've done? That makes two of this group against you now!"

She knit her brow at his words. "Why does that mean to me?"

"I may not be able to sway them for you to stay here." He growled, the pressure on her bone increasing. "I will not have you rejected, to be thrown out there alone!"

Quinlan's profile softened. He gently rubbed the scars on her right cheek. "I will not lose you again, not to a mortal's disdain."

Ylva calmed, realizing. "Then we just leave. The three Originals remain yes? We will go to them."

"No. I need the elder and I do not wish to show my face there again." He said, not giving her all the details. He thought back on his reaction to the Ancients and it had been a poor one. It was embarrassing.

Her eyes searched his trying to figure out what he meant but closed in surrender. There was too much to ask, not enough to answer. "What am I to do then?"

Quinlan took his palms away. "As I implored before, behave."

Ylva sneered but stepped into his room without quipping. "Fine,"

"I will return shortly." He looked back. "Please, don't do anything rash."

Ylva had her back to him. She just shrugged. Quinlan shook his head and departed.

He didn't wish to leave her like this yet her stunt earlier would make this even harder to encourage the humans she posed no threat and could be trusted. Surely the professor would see reason. He was the unofficial leader in the band of hunters. What the old one said was law, especially to the giant. Although her attacks may rally against her.

He reached to an inner pocket and took out the necklace. At least, she was alive. His fingers enclosed around it. _At least she was alive..._

* * *

 

Ylva stood in the middle of the small room for decent chunk of time. She absently held her elbow, making herself look timid and lost. The dhampir was surrounded by scents she knew but objects she did not.

Her different coloured gaze filtered throughout the space.

The interior was simple. The features accommodating the norm for mortals these days, she supposed. A single bed, dresser, lights, and a stand supporting a rectangular box. In all, it was much to his taste. Quinlan was always a creature of basic requirements. Their kind had no need for dining areas or washing facilities. Sleeping was also unnecessary but a cot wasn't ever refused.

She inhaled his scent greedily. It was light, meaning he hadn't been here long. But she missed it, missed him.

Ylva rarely formed attachments. She witnessed too many instances were the feelings and bonds were fleeting. In one form or another, they were ripped from the Born. Quinlan, he understood the loss. All were killed that either cared about him or loved him. It mattered little to the Seventh how strong the connections were. It wanted to make a point to him.

She saw that he finally understood after the Berber slave. And now, Ylva understood as well. The taste was bitter and difficult to swallow but she did. She hadn't intended to bond with Quinlan as deeply as she had. It happened just like the woman by genetics was Amma, told her all those centuries ago, on that damned vessel that was her home and her prison.

Her nose wrinkled as she picked her own decrepit scent. A another door was in the side of the room. She crossed over the odd fur type flooring and went inside. It was a washroom, thankfully and not a damn closet.

The obvious laid out. She wearily eyed the glass room tucked into the corner. Choosing what she was mostly familiar with, Ylva undressed, sliding off Quinlan's coat, and tossed the foul clothes.

Twisting the knobs on for the water, Ylva grabbed the hand-towel and used it clean her face of the dirt, residue from the lead, and dried blood from the men. She must have been a vision to the male called Fet...

Ylva sneered at her unflinching reflection. She knew what mortals thought of her. Their opinions held no sway over her. But if Quinlan needed these humans for a cause then, she cast her gaze away. She must act more...respectfully towards them.

"Even if they deserve to be smacked around." She grumbled, taking the cloth to scrub at the rest of her beaten flesh.

The female Born harbored no disgust at the scars marring her body. A few she was proud of. The rest was just a reminder of how humanity treated her. How she would never put them above a mindless, a _strigoi_.

Neither race that she came from embraced her. Too vampire for the humans, too human for the vampires. Although, good enough to be forged and used a powerful tool. Her father saw that and so did her other 'father'.

No one gave a damn about the being torn between two very opposite creatures toiling inside her.

Quinlan understood. The tug of war constantly going on within. Her eyes drooped. That's why...

Ylva shoved off the porcelain bowl, away from her thoughts and away from her image. Wrapping the fluffy white towel over her chewed up form, she exited and went to search for clothing.

Pulling the first drawer out, Ylva wasn't surprised a tiny bit. It was filled with a set of guns and various boxes of ammunition. She rolled her eyes. Very like Quinlan indeed. The second held nothing, as did the third and the fourth. She scowled. Where in the Hel were his clothes?!

She marched over to the wardrobe and let out an unamused hiss. It too was empty, minus a bag. She made a mental note of that. Ylva rattled with annoyance.

"He _still_ does this?!"

Quinlan had developed a bad habit of only purchasing a certain amount of clothing and not bringing a spare set. It drove Ylva up a wall when he went out and came back in ruined outfits.

She noticed an article laying on the bed with a pair of weapons. It was a vest.

Ylva huffed. That was better than a mere towel. She had no issue walking about without covering in the slightest but in light of the current predicament and her state of mind, the Born found that unwise.

Throwing the towel on the bed and snatching up the vest, she put her arms through it and zipped it up. The vest was large on her of course, and only reached to her upper thigh but covered what was important.

Her toes wiggled on the plush ground. Ylva admitted it was rather comfortable. It was far better than walking bare foot on stone or gravel. So much had changed since the Master removed her from this world. She felt so out of place.

She imaged if Quinlan felt the same, if it was worse without anyone by his side.

Ylva sat on the mattress. She shouldn't feel so guilty as the fault wasn't entirely her own but other things were eating at her. Being locked inside that box put much in perspective. What she had promised Quinlan the giant's castle that night.

If she were to gain anything from her family ties, it would be the pieces of culture her amma provided to Ylva when she was very little. Many roles she was unable to preform but one duty Ylva thought, she filled to the best of her ability. Fighting alongside Quinlan was part of the women of her race did for their husbands, for their mates.

Ylva tensed when the knob clicked and turned. Much to her relief, it was only Quinlan.

He walked in with some folded clothes over his forearm. He didn't look at her. "I brought," He finally saw her. "Oh..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah....
> 
> Amma means grandmother


	9. Sentance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much faster update this time! Whoot, whoot! The feedback for the last chapter sucked. Guess I deserve it though. 
> 
> Thanks to shadowflame611 for the comment! It's greatly appreciated! :)
> 
> Enjoy~

**Earlier...**

"Mr. Fet tells me you found the _strigoi_ that escaped from the coffin." Abraham said, risen from his chair before the mountain of books and copies of the Lumen.

Quinlan stood with Ephriam and Fet at the round table in the middle of the room, hands clasped at their usual position. Hundreds of years of standing at attention was a habit not easy to shake. He knew the old man wasn't finished.

"And you brought said _strigoi_ , that attempted to drain Dr. Goodweather of his blood, back here instead of cleansing it." He fiddled with the silver wolf head of the concealed weapon. "I trust you have your reasons, Mr. Quinlan. Would you care to share them?"

Indeed it was odd for Quinlan not to kill a _strigoi_ , much less bring one back fully intact. Bizarre yet was the fact he returned with the intention of adding to their fold. Augustine did not really count as Vaun recruited him prior to Quinlan forming the current alliance, or even being involved.

"Yes. However, who we are speaking about is no mere _strigoi_. She is Born." He revealed.

Ephriam paused in rubbing the puncture wound Ylva created in his neck that had already begun to heal and itch.

"Born? Meaning _that thing_ is like you?" He asked, doubtful since the rabid creature's mannerisms did not match Quinlan's.

His icy hues narrowed. " _That thing_ you are referring has a name. She is Ylva, the fourth in the short line of Born. Please address her as such."

The doctor and exterminator both blinked multiple times, shocked at the reference. That name was mentioned by Quinlan once with a tender note neither believed the gruesome man was equipped with. But wasn't he the last of them? Ephriam kept this ponder to himself.

"Ylva, the hybrid you spoke of the last week. It was she locked inside that tomb?" The professor confirmed, reiterating on past conversations.

"The very same. I learned from Ylva that my father abducted her on the eve I saw her last. My suspicions sealed." Quinlan didn't voice his boyish fears that churned in his stomach when it had first happened. The scare of her simply leaving him behind for good.

Eph sighed, stuffing his hands into the jeans pockets and shuffled over to the bar. He popped open another container and filled a clean glass, downing it in a single gulp.

"You weren't kidding about her. She's fucking vicious!" Eph exclaimed, probably to be haunted for the next few nights of Ylva coming after him. "Like a pit bull out of hell."

Quinlan chuckled, holding his fingers to mouth. "You haven't the faintest idea, doctor." He put away his mirth and focused on the the more important task: talking the three into allowing Ylva to stay among their ranks.

Fet spoke before Quinlan could pick up the conversation. "Ya know that saying about pit bulls, they can't be trusted."

Vasily didn't personally believe that crap, but it suited the topic at the moment.

The Born gave Fet a foreboding glare as he said, "Tread carefully with your next words, Mr. Fet."

Eph swallowed the burning liquid. "Yeah Fet, relax. Didn't you tell me, Mr. Q, that Ylva was your wife or something?"

"I never used that exact word however, yes. Why?" Quinlan rose a hairless brow at where this was going.

Goodweather gestured to Fet with the empty shot glass in hand. "You just called his wife a dog, man."

Fet rolled his lower lip, shrugging. He felt somewhat bad for the name calling but it fit the circumstance. Quinlan's frown turned deeper at the big man's ignorance and the title the doctor chose. Wife held a very different meaning to him regarding Ylva.

"Let's get back to the point." Abe waved his crooked hand in the air.

"What I was originally going to say is, Ylva is our ally. Another capable fighter we can depend on in this battle. She has experience dealing with my father's forces that matches to my own and the professor's." Quinlan stated.

"She attacked Goodweather!" Fet would not relent on that fact.

It was growing rather stale to keep bringing up the same point that was already known. "I think we all understand that now, Mr. Fet. If that is the only factor in your arsenal, it's become less effective."

He looked to the happily dazed doctor. "Should anyone carry a heavier weight on this decision, mind she was in a maddened state induced by starvation, it falls on Goodweather. It was he who she went after, as Mr. Fet so kindly continues to remind us."

Eph played with the tiny cup, batting to and fro between his palms. "True," He mumbled.

"In the beginning, none of you trusted me."

"Still don't," Fet grumbled.

Quinlan pretended not to hear that. "I threatened you and in the end, we created this. Up until incident with the Lumen, you each placed some faith in me."

Vasily butted in. "And you blew it."

"Give it a rest, Fet. We get it." Ephriam groaned into his hands.

"I will not deny that. Yet, after I stole from you, I was rewarded with another chance." He pressed on.

Quinlan turned to the professor, speaking directly to him. "Would you have not done the very same?" He questioned.

The only person in this room who understood the boundless cruelty of The Master on a level not too far behind Quinlan's; who dedicated their very existence to destroying it, even if it called for taking matters into their own hands.

"Ylva can be trusted. Lend her your confidence, how small it may be," He snapped his gaze to Fet. "And I assure you, the results will not disappoint."

The room fell silent. The air thick with uncertainty. Quinlan tried again.

"She is no threat. Can she be wild? Yes. Is she unpredictable? Very. That is her nature." He explained. "But, I have known her in various settings during a mass of near two thousand years unlike you all. Where as you are judging her solely on a brief and poor encounter."

None muttered a single word. Each were processing this argument. The tension pressed down on Quinlan like the thunderous hoof beats and chariot wheels in the race he once fallen during. He waited, holding the oxygen in his lungs.

He would stand here all day and more, pleading her case to the unsure mortals if he had to. All they had, ever since the start, was each other to defend themselves. Quinlan would not let this verdict be made lightly.

"He's got a point." Eph offered.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Fet was in disbelief, thinking the booze had gone to his brain.

Good. Quinlan watched the old man. He had already made his determination long ago.

"She could be useful, Mr. Fet. I will not turn away such an opportunity. Although," He lifted his brown eyes to Quinlan. "If Ylva commits a reason for another gathering of this kind, I will ask you that she leave." The professor was not a stupid man by any shot.

Quinlan expected that type of response. He bowed his head. "I understand. I can promise you no such act will repeat itself."

"Are you serious?!" Fet threw his arms in sour defeat and stormed out of the room. He didn't know the exact room Ylva was staying in, but Quinlan kept his hearing pinned on the man's path just in case.

Ephriam yawned and snatched up a bottle. "Well, after such an engaging court, I'm getting a drink." He and the old man ignored Eph.

The Born approached Abraham as he settled back in usual place. "Thank you," He truly meant it.

Abe didn't raise his head. "I may be a bitter old man but that does not mean I will throw a man's wife into this current state of world." He kept to his notes. "Especially one that as been asleep while the world evolves around them."

Quinlan wanted to correct the term again but couldn't find the right words to describe what Ylva really was to him. Instead, he accepted that and excused himself. She needed new clothes as the ones she wore were... unacceptable.

He fished through the many rooms of the establishment before finally locating a set that looked to fit her. They were not designed for a female but appeared to be small enough. It would do for now until he could search later on in more promising areas.

He arrived at his quarters. He heard nothing within but the sound of her heartbeat. It was reassuring after its extended absence. Quinlan knew he would always miss her, long for her, but he never realized how much until she came back from the dead in a sense.

Quinlan walked in without knocking, the need to acknowledge his entry felt silly as it was his room. He didn't look at her yet while he went further inside.

The reason why Quinlan could not grasp. To give her privacy? Did he believe he had no right any longer? The Born finally spoke up. "I brought-" Damn it all, look at her!

He didn't know what he expected but it was the last idea on his mind. Ylva sat on his bed dressed in his dark blue vest, only his vest. "Oh..."

**Present...**

Ylva smirked at the loss of his words. He always had been so cute when she caught him off guard. Yes, she just described the feared barbarian gladiator as cute. She threw a less scarred leg over the other, the heel of her palm tucked beneath her chin.

"Did you honestly think I'd stay in those clothes until you returned?" She rose the flesh of her brow.

"Of course not," He still hadn't moved closer.

"Then you're upset to find me in your vest or not _stark naked_ in _your bed?_ " Ylva laughed inwardly as she noticed the subtle twitch in his shoulder. She knew he just imagined her laid out as such.

The female Born wondered besides refusing to partake in fresh mortal blood, what other hungers he starved over years she had been gone. The dent in his cheek where Quinlan bit the inside of his mouth hinted what else went unfed.

While Ylva did enjoy to tease in the past, she was in no emotional state of mind to preform deeds on an intimate level. Her inner axis felt unbalanced. She felt abnormal.

Intercourse had been Ylva's ace when brute force wasn't the answer. She transformed the abuse of her body from her child years into a tool that worked in her favor; crafting the torture in her first six decades to gain what she wanted. Those in the old world either found her appearance erotic or evil. Many strayed from her path while a select sought her out.

None of them truly mattered to Ylva. They were a means to an end. Only one being had managed to successfully earn Ylva's frosted heart, and he knew this. They always came back to one another. But, that didn't mean either never became the object of desire to mortals.

Both dhampirs acquired a small collection of lovers throughout their long history.

Each were precious to Quinlan in their ways but Ylva kept them at length. She had witnessed too many fates coming to conclusion before their time. Her bitterness aimed at their species also blocked any romantic attachments that tried to sown by countless mortals, male and female.

Once, very briefly, did a single existence of mortality weigh an ounce to Ylva. Their life fleeting, in the count of three summers, yet their importance ceased to fade. It happened as she predicted although feeling as she had damned them by thinking it. Ylva had no right.

None of every single mortal encounter Ylva had, stabbed so deeply than the woman's demise she felt that night in Norway, alone and wandering.

_**Tasa.** _

She flung the name from her thoughts. The mortal woman was dead and that fact was forever. Ylva didn't wish to bring up the emotions that always followed that slave.

Ylva rattled, stepping away from his person as she took the clothes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't do that."

After the woman and her spawn fell prey to corruption, it took years for Ylva to get Quinlan to engage with her again. Karma was a thing that must've found itself amusing as it took a toll on her this ring around.

Quinlan remained rigid in his stance. "It's fine. I just..."

She peeled the vest off and in a blur the previous owner's clothes were on. They were baggy and hung on her frame. These must've belonged to a male due to the cut and trim on the pants. Ylva needed a belt otherwise they'd sag to the ground.

She cut his next sentence in half when she was in front of him again. His belt would fit. Ylva wrinkled her nose at the item.

"What are you-" He frowned at her pinched expression. "What now?"

Ylva eyed his belt with distaste. "That... that looks hideous. A more simple buckle would blend in! Why did you buy that?!"

"I think it looks fine!" He growled.

"It looks _stupid!_ " She corrected.

A part of Ylva was reassured at their semi fall back into routine with her bickering about his style of dress. Quinlan could look dashing one century then appear to have fallen out of a closet another. It was amusing in a silly point of view.

Her talon clacked against the round, fake silver accessory strung about his waist. "It's ugly and I refuse to wear it." She was not one for fashion, but at least looking decent was a need.

"Don't do that," Quinlan nudged her little hand away. "And why must you wear it? It is min-" He snapped his jaw shut when he noticed the exposed slim v of her waist dip below the rim of the most likely deceased's pants.

"Unless you want the pants to slid down and show off my ass, then-" Ylva's retort was short lived as knock rapped against the door.

"Mr. Quinlan, Ms. Ylva," Her tipped ears flicked with mild interest. She hadn't heard this voice yet. It was gruff but not raspy yet aged. The tone reminded Ylva of an old wolf.

Quinlan's eyes hesitated a second behind Ylva's in glancing at the source. "Yes, professor?"

Her gaze lit up at the title. Ah, this was the elder he mentioned earlier? Ylva's stinger rattled lowly, curious. He peeked at her with a subtle warning.

She shrugged, side stepping Quinlan and allowing him to answer the man. His form filled the entryway, not letting the inquisitive dhampir see. They exchanged a minor relay then the room shut. Her sensitive hearing picked up the words.

"We are going to see the Originals?" She questioned.

"We are." He confirmed. "Many of my father's minions roam the city still; aimless without the voice, but surviving." Quinan looked so lost as he continued. "I... _live_. I have no answers to this dilemma as I had no plans to be contemplating them."

Her expression crumbled to pure shock. Was he saying what she thought?

Ylva snapped her head to him, eyes wide with fear. " _What did you do_?"

* * *

The female Born trailed behind the coat paired, observing the architecture during their journey on foot to the American Ancients underground sanctum. She felt biting her tongue would aide her in not causing further trouble for herself and containing the gnawing worry inside.

Quinlan was successful in slaying his Original yet he remained whole and well. Before Ylva was taken, decades before the event, she lost any mental contact that was weakly established to her Old One. It had fallen utterly silent one day, mid afternoon.

Ylva tried for hours to regain its signal but could not locate it. She traveled to the den it lived with its brood but found only a fragmented coven. Its minions were crying out in sorrow and confusion, leaderless. The Ancient was no where to be seen.

Could the theory be false in its description of the Ancients' slaughter resulting in their Born death? Ylva remained, didn't she? Pointed fangs dug into her lower lip. What did this mean? Had they missed something?

Her eyes burned into the old man's skull. Quinlan said he needed this sack of dry bones and blood. Why? She knew of these people but not about them.

Medicine, structure, knowledge, those were in Quinlan's arsenal. Others she had yet to be introduced to. All these mortals, including the unknowns, have a relate able core reason to fight: grievance by contact with the Seventh.

Any bargain that was struck with the devil caused only misery, no matter what sweet and fake promises it whispered. It was a liar, a thief, and a ruthless murderer. Should those foolish enough to muse coming out the deal unscathed, they would learn far too late.

Making a vow with the devil burnt a mark on your soul that continued to burn and burn until ash was left. Ylva had it seen once in noblemen that offered his services in exchange for eternal life. She had been young and not truly understanding the danger the Seventh posed. The dhampir watched as the Master agreed, though never held its end, and sent the noble into a pit of madness.

The _tick, tick, tick_ of the professor's intriguing cane focused Ylva on reality. Surprising was the elder, Setrakian, he did not slow them down. They were walking a brisk pace at human speed but not once did he ask for a breath. More odd was the scent mixing in with his own.

It was faint but there. She ears detected nothing. Perhaps she was not listening closely enough?

Ylva trained her hearing finer. The lungs expanded roughly. The crunch of joints infected with arthritis. The heart beat blood vessels through the veins, however nothing hidden within.

A loud but amused voice hinted with a Spanish accent rocked Ylva from her concentration. She hadn't realized she had nearly bumped into Setrakian. Quinlan gave her a concerned look before listening to the young man who was followed by a middle aged fellow jogging out of deserted building.

"Yo, Mr. Q, old man! Long time no see!" Bright brown eyes locked onto her, guarded curiosity dimmed them. "Who's the freaky _mama_ , Q?"


	10. Fleeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't I update this regularly? Dx
> 
> Have at it!

Ylva flicked her eyes up and down the young man, studying his haughty stance. He was young and hot-headed unlike the elder standing next to him protectively. She clicked her stinger. They were not kin, despite sharing the flesh tone and dark eyes. However, that did not lessen the guardian's position by the boy's side.

"She is an old friend," Quinlan vaguely introduced her.

The female dhampir inclined her head slightly. Her eyes not leaving the pair guarding the entrance. "My name is Ylva,"

The boy made a face as he spoke her name. "Ylva? What kinda name is that?"

His guardian spoke in their native tongue, his gaze switching back and forth between him and her. The old one believed words in foreign language could be exchanged without intentions being revealed. It may have worked if Ylva were human. Too bad for them.

She was described as untrustworthy appearing, like a wolf hiding in a sheep's flesh. This made her smirk widely, displaying her maw of wicked teeth. Ylva leaned towards Quinlan, selecting the very same language.

"¿Por qué los humanos se creen tan listos?" Ylva asked, the sentence rolling off her tongue perfectly.

Both men flinched at that, feeling some embarrassment. The younger man rubbed the back of his neck while the elder remained silent. Neither expected her to possess knowledge of their heritage, which was to be expected in this era she supposed.

Quinlan allowed the smallest upward quirk of his lips. "It can be entertaining when they think so."

The younger stepped forward. "Call me Gus. Sorry about that." He held out a hand to Ylva, the proper way of introduction but she despised being touched without a real need for it.

"Gus," Ylva repeated the name to memory. "Don't touch me."

He held his palms in surrender. "It's cool," Gus turned to Quinlan. "What brings you back? Last time I heard, Lar told me you stomped out like-" He paused, expression in total innocence. "His words Q, like a spoiled brat."

Ylva's gaze flew wide at first in surprise that one had the gall to refer Quinlan as such but then found the hilarity in it and hid her smirk behind her palm. Quinlan ignored her, fighting twitch that so desperately wanted to be released from the muscle in his eye. She didn't see this struggle often. Whoever this Lar was might prove to be interesting.

"The _strigoi_ within the city," Quinlan addressed the issue at hand, not even giving the comment a care. "They still thrive, I still breathe even with the Master disposed of. I require answers to why this is."

"We noticed. The fuckers are still out there, feeding and growing. Don't make any sense, boss." Gus owed his allegiance to Quinlan it seemed, Ylva mused. Interesting when one who guards the Originals takes orders from another. Have they truly become that unaware in their long years?

"We will see them, Mr. Elizalde." The professor spoke up. His tone did not waver in the slightest.

The men nodded and motioned for them to follow. Ylva pried her soles from the concrete. She was increasingly getting uneasy. The further the Born got to the threshold to descend, the more she wanted to run from it. Had being locked away effected her that much?

Quinlan picked up her anxiety and looked back to see her standing rigid with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. He reversed to check on her.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't- I have no will to go down there." Ylva retreated from his rising arms that sought to comfort as the backlash from the coffin grew more and more harsh.

Quinlan frowned. "It is still bothering you, isn't it?"

It was a little unnerving for him to see Ylva this way. She had always been so brave and unbreakable. The roots of his hate for the Master grew mightier.

She nodded keeping to the rim of the shadows of the structure. Two of three humans glanced back confused by the Born's behavior. The professor knew what was building in her and didn't push it.

"At least come inside. You don't have to fully enter their dwellings." He was concerned leaving Ylva out in the open like this. Whether or not if the Seventh was vanquished, _strigoi_ still crawled over the city and mortals fearful of any who resembled the fallen. Quinlan understood Ylva could easily take care of herself but like this, she may not fare too well.

Ylva refused.

He cradled the underside of her face, nuzzling her. "I will make this quick."

Ylva did not return the gesture and removed his hands. "Take your time. If it still lives, you'll need all the information the worms have to willingly disclose."

The male Born was displeased at relinquishing the touch on her so soon but agreed. Sparing one last peek, Quinlan watched as Ylva gave him a half-hearted wave. She stood in silence as they were swallowed up by the darkness of the Ancients' home. It was not long before Ylva felt ire rise from Quinlan. She grinned. Must've run into Lar.

She heard- felt them rather down below. Ylva knew she had curiosities that needed to be sated however, that was if the Ancients felt ever so inclined to quench them. Besides, her mismatched gaze looked on the looming buildings around her. The city afforded much distraction from the buzzing possibilities of what may have happened to their Originals.

'I could less about what fate decided to judge the decrepit fool.' Ylva spat.

The Born pushed off the wall and ventured out into the barren concrete jungle that remained of New York City. The sun was still high in the smoke filled sky much to the dhampir's agitation. Her sight focused on an owner-less duster laying forgotten and trampled on the littered street.

With a swipe, Ylva pulled the coat over her beaten shoulders and walked on less irate. It reeked of expired perspiration and mold but the article would do for now. The coat luckily had a hood attached. Tugging that down over her profile as well, she peered at her surroundings like a child.

Buildings appeared to stretch as high to the skyline, skimming the very bottom of the clouds with the pointed tops. She had seen such grand scale before, but those were built with stone not with glass. They seemed to fare well against nature's unpredictable temperament. Although, in the city's current state, all of this had witnessed and stood fast in better days.

Little shops and in-the-wall food establishments were run down with thievery and panic. Items scattered across the pavement. Vehicles abandoned or burned. Dry blood smeared on the surfaces of every place and thing, both red and white. The plague definitely had its way here. In such a packed and confined mortal settlement, Ylva was unfazed by the scarce amount of humans.

The _strigoi_ skittered under her like roaches in the dark. She could feel them everywhere. Until night was cast, they would remain dormant in their shadows.

A fluttering heartbeat and staggering pace snagged Ylva's attention from the settled chaos. A flash of wheat coloured hair went in her peripheral, darting into a past ally. Her stinger rattled in slight interest. The thirst still vaguely lingered even after draining three mortals and handful of blood bags. Rumbling with piqued hunger, Ylva followed after the source.

Keeping a distance away they wouldn't be able to pick up her advance, she saw how they carried themselves. It wasn't only liquid powering their crumbling state. Her ears detected their breathing hitching in sniffles. She smelled salt as well.

The human was cursed by sorrow and defeat. It was on the edge of giving up. Her pronged stinger churred. She would be delighted to end its suffering.

Turning up the speed to close the space between the predator and prey Ylva paused as she witnessed the human, female she noticed underneath the layer of scents, pulled open a metal box and carelessly hop in. It was foul!

Ylva reeled back with an offended hiss. Let the damn thing wallow in its depression and trash! She spun on her heel, dismissing the hunt when a nagging built in her mind. Lurking below the stench of human oils and odor, muk and gods knew what else, there was a touch of silver.

She glanced over her shoulder at the crate. The dhampir wasn't much of weaponry, the rush of bone cracking and flesh rendering by claws satisfactory, but perhaps it could be useful in other hands. Quinlan had human allies now, they would need it.

Her stolen shoes made no sound as she returned on the path and came upon the safety hull the woman resided within.

Ylva snatched the plastic covering on the large metal container and threw it back, the lid smacking the brick wall behind it loudly. The blond female inside spassed at the noise and pale figure peering down at her beneath its cowl. In an instant a sliver blade hissed as it sliced the air, the strike aimed at Ylva's face.

With ease she tilted her spine to the left, dodging the attack, and caught the sword in her right palm. The skin burned at the weapon's contact. Green-blue eyes widened at the speed and control. Shock filled her dirty face. Ylva craned her head, staring at the prepared woman. Did she mistake her for a mindless?

"Silver, you're an informed little thing aren't you?" Ylva curled her fingers around the blade, inflicting more pain but yanked the lanky woman from the trash.

She held them in the air for a few moments, showing the blonde there was not chance to win against her. "But I'm afraid your toy here," Ylva jostled the weapon and its owner, "won't provide much help to you."

Releasing the grip on the sword, Ylva set the human woman on her feet. She studied the mortal as they cracked their wrist bone, glaring at her while they did. Matty sun kissed hair fell from their sweaty cap in deflated curls. Grime covered most of her face with a touch of blood and a black trail of make-up product ran down her cheeks.

Her eyes were more interesting. They were narrow but glassy with so much raw emotion clouded by the spirits they drank recently, judging by her semi glassed iris. Her pouty lips were down turned into the deepest frown Ylva thought she had ever seen.

"Enough with your sulking. It won't aide you in goading mercy from me. Besides," Ylva didn't need to look down at the woman as they spoke. Her height matched nearly her own. "I'm not planning on killing you."

"Planning it says," The woman grumbled, leaning back against the bin.

"I _am not_ an _it_ ," Ylva growled. She shrugged. "All the _strigoi_ are its, aren't they?' The sword point jabbed at Ylva's crotch. "Nothin' down there,"

"Do you always get this dull-witted when drunk?" She smacked it away, glaring daggers at the mortal. "For your enlightenment, I am no pawn." Ylva spat.

A slender brow rose. "Seriously?" The words slurred a bit. "Where's ya hair then?" A trembling hand waved around their scalp. "Missin' tits too," She scrunched her nose at the lack in Ylva's chest department.

Patience snapped. A white hand coiled around the mortal's fine little neck. The sword dropped to the ground. She found herself trapped between a hard place and extremely fed up Born.

Ylva snarled in the female's terrified face. "My _tits_ are none of your damned business."

"What the bloody hell are you?" She wheezed out, scratching at the ensnaring hand.

"Not your enemy, unless you wish to keep prodding at my appearance." Ylva released her grip, allowing her to fall flat on her ass.

"Fair enough," She rasped while kneading her sore flesh.

"Now, where did you come across that?" A claw directed to the weapon.

She swallowed with some difficult to the pain pulsing in her neck. "A friend."

By the Norns! Ylva hoisted her physically drained body and sent her upwards. Staring the woman directly in the eye, she asked once more. "Where do you get that?"

Timid bravado shakily endured on her face. Ylva rolled her eyes. Cracking her jaw open wider than normally possible, she showed the mortal what awaited if she continued this game. Her stinger gurgled and spread ever so slightly in her mouth.

Horror coloured their parlor and the courage deflated. "A pro-professor!! He made it!"

Interesting. Could it be the old one with the cane? "Is this professor called Setrakian?"

Shock made those eyes go wide. "How'd you know that?"

Ylva shoved the mortal into the wall and collected the blade. "We're more on the same side than I originally intended."

Red and yellow eyes examined the craftsmanship. It was finely forged.

"Wait, you're with them?!" She scrambled towards her now, desperate. "Is there anyone else with him?"

The Born returned the sword to her,uncaring. Should she tell her? "There is a rather large man, dark hair and beard, then a bald doctor who has a ill habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time." Vague but on point to one who knew the group.

Hope lit brightly in her eyes. "Yes, Fet and Eph! They're alive!"

Ephraim was the man she almost drank. She didn't care to remember the tall's man name. "Sure,"

The blond smiled and darted to her heap of garbage. A few items were taken and stuffed into the raggedy backpack. Sliding the carrier on her shoulder blades, she faced Ylva.

"Take me there?" She asked, ready and eager to be reunited.

"I am not a delivery woman." Ylva huffed, crossing her arms. The nerve of this blood pint.

Her demeanor fell as reconsideration filtered across her profile. "I shouldn't go. They don't want me there, anyways."

Ylva exhaled loudly. Humans and their fickle emotions. Constantly shifting to one to the next in a split second. "I'm not exactly welcome either. What difference does it make?"

The mortal's stance turned to defensive and guarded. "Look, I just can't okay?!"

"Then where are you going to go? Stay within the belly of that horrid box and rot?" Ylva was surprised she was even speaking about them to rejoin their people. Her own birth people cast her out in their minds and she never held no desire to go back. She only did when certain news hit her ears.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I know a place."

Ylva threw up her arms in frustration. "Then go there!" Mortals reminded her much of a lost puppy at instances like these.

"I can't get back by myself. I don't think..." They became sheepish and unsure.

Ylva hissed. What was the harm? She wanted to explore the area and an opportunity presented itself. The Born turned her head in the direction of the underground sanctum. She wasn't very welcome in either camp.

'Forgive me, Quin.'

She'd be back eventually. "I'll escort you. Where the hell is it?" Wouldn't' she?

Her expression beamed and she pointed to the East. "It's in Redhook! The apartment still should be all right."

Casting a 'how should I know' look, Ylva pushed at the air between them to motion for the mortal to get a move on. It was bright out here! She pursed her thin lips. Who was she even talking to?

As if on cue, the female introduced herself. "Name's Dutch by the way!"

 

* * *

 

The Born kept a minor distance away from the giddy mortal who insisted upon jabbering along the journey. This provided intel that barely mattered to Ylva. She cared not for the bands of music she listed nor her profession of hacking. What in the name of the gods was that?

Some distraction Ylva was thankful for was the minute flare of irritation and worry rooting from Quinlan. She knew he would be upset with her for ditching him... again. She shook head to and fro, tightly weaving the locks on her mental signature. Ylva had no ill intention or gained any pleasure for doing this but right now, while the Born did indeed pine to be around familiarity, the sour churning in her stomach made her distance herself.

Ylva felt she held no right to be welcomed back so easily and without repercussion. All the sins of her past, mainly towards Quinlan, haunted her like ghouls now since rising from the so called dead. Her inner axis slowly becoming more in turmoil. She had no idea how to address the bitterness except as she always did: ignore it.

The further the pair traveled, the more Ylva could see for herself what damage had been done. Signs of the end of times lay warped and in shreds on the ground. Homes boarded over as the darkness festered inside. A few papers remained pinned to wooden posts. Missing animals and persons, events, and most recently seeming a picture of a woman with the slogan 'Take Back Our City' beneath her profile. A high official perhaps?

Did the humans truly believe this so heavily corrupted city could be salvaged? Humanity as a whole was a fool.

Dutch hastily crossed the empty road, holding her gut. Ylva thought she heard the mortal complain about something but didn't give a damn enough to actually listen. Her nostrils flared when the winds shifted, an eerie howl flowing in the night air. This was a new scent but a known one.

The skin of her naked brow rose. It was recent, very recent and it lead to the double grey doors Dutch was bouncing in her step towards. Ylva picked up her regular pace and met the newly acquainted human at the entrance before she could lay a finger on the handle.

"Oi! Move!" She groaned, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Cease your childish actions. I thought you said this place would be vacant." Ylva jabbed a thumb to the lit interior. "Apparently, you were incorrect."

Dutch frowned at this. Nudging Ylva out of her way, she rapped her knuckles on the door. The Born blinked, incredulous. If there were intruders within should they make themselves unknown or go else where?

A slur of 'hold of your horses' echoed behind the barrier. She frowned deeply. That voice...

The door cracked open and Dutch practically fell inside. "What's up Doc?" Ephraim looked dazed but surprised at the sudden reappearance of his friend. "You look like shit..."

His dull eyes finally realized Ylva was not far behind. The man wheeled back, hitting a table square in the back. The half full bottle of Vodka slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor.

Ephraim's visage paled in the jump scare she gave him. "Jesus Christ!"

Slightly bemused, Ylva quipped, "Afraid not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of the new chapter. However, the next should be longer. We're gonna get a little more in depth with the cranky baby known as Ylva. 
> 
> Translations: Why do humans think themselves clever?


	11. Oooooh, lookit at this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time friend of mine drew this for me before Ylva was even fully written in words. You may know her as the reviewer 'thatonegirl' or her Tumblr name 'chibibaka-chan'. She is all kinds of awesome and I still love this! 
> 
> Many thanks to essenceanddescent for doing the link for me to post it here! She too is the awesome. :D
> 
> But yeah, here's a visual aide of my extremely angry brain child.


	12. Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so far the longest chapter I've written for this fic yet! (Have I said this before?? Oh crap) I was a little bit of trouble with it as I was unsure how to go about a certain scene in this. But here we are!
> 
> Enjoy.

Ylva stood with her back to the cool cement wall with a smirk trained on Ephraim's shaken demeanor. The doctor had been quite floored to see her in tow with Dutch. The female Born had been surprised as well to discover the man here and alone.

He poured another trembling shot and brought the beaker to his lips, "So, why is she here again?"

Dutch was currently locked in the bathroom cleaning herself of the days being dirty and scavenging to survive. The blond was rather beautiful but ever so vain about her painted visage.

Ylva at one point in her extended life had once felt envy towards human women and the ability to change their looks. Their waves of hair, different tones of flesh, and the slightest of curves made the young Born wallow in bitter envy. But that kind of thinking was crushed in a single thought: no amount of forged beauty could hide she was a monster.

"She found me." The hacker replied through the door.

Eph made a face of disbelief. "She just found you?"

Weary eyes twitched over to the Born. "I am not here to finish my meal if that's what you believe, doctor." Ylva half-reassured.

Should he once again try her patience, she may find herself so inclined.

Oh, it would not happen again without prodding. The man tasted bitter like the drink he so enjoyed in partaking. A blood polluted with toxins like sickness, drugs and alcohol did not make a savory concoction. He would be the very last she would take.

A blond head poked out from behind the door, mint eyes wide. "Hang on, did you try to drain him...??" Ylva had not told the female her name but Dutch's fingers snapped in trying to conjur it up.

"You didn't even get her name!?" Ephraim exclaimed. "How the hell did you make it out there? Follow strangers and hope everything came out okay?!"

Her voluptuous lips thinned in anger. "For your information doc I teamed up with old friends, kicked vamp ass and made it just fine!"

The pair went into a yelling match that was likely ensued by the spirits flowing throughout their system but it grated on Ylva's hyper sensitive ear drums. Mortals and their spats gave some form a mild entertainment however, these two were acting like younglings. Mouthing off about this and that Ylva did not care to perceive.

When the final cord had been struck by Ephraim dragging up her past with a man called Fet causing Dutch to shriek, Ylva had her fill of this tantrum.

"Desist your bickering! What does this petty squabble to do with the current state of your city? Your humanity? This is the very kind of conflict is what the Seventh desires!" She growled.

Both humans calmed their ire with a flush of embarrassment. It had gotten out of hand when things became personal and they knew it. Ylva shook her bald head at their actions. Humans and their raw emotions. Although she held no room to talk...

"She's right," Eph slumped down onto the stool set before a table array with equipment Ylva was unfamiliar with. "This is what the Master wants, to turn us against each other so no one will stand united against him."

"That's the smartest thing I believe I've heard confess from your mouth." Ylva murmured, moving closer to the rogue humans.

"What _is_ your name anyways?" Velders asked, rubbing her soaked locks with a dark green towel.

"Ylva," She did not consider giving her last name as it died along with the human fetus inside her mother's decaying womb.

"That sounds... not from here." Dutch stated with an undertone of wonder, turning her back to replace the cloth.

"I hail from none of your damn business." Ylva spat. It vexed her to speak in human formality.

Eph frowned at her rude mannerisms but it brought a grin to the hacker. "Bloody smart-ass, aren't ya?"

"If that describes my matter of speaking, then yes." She churred, focusing on the drunken doctor. "Now, what you doing here?"

He huffed dramatically. "None of your damn business." Her own words thrown back in her face, eh?

Ylva made sure her stinger's irritated rattle was loud and did not go unnoticed by the physician. He went a shade paler and scooted the metal chair further from her personal space.

"Fet punched me in the face, okay?" Another rushed whisk went down.

Her brow knit. "Twice I've heard that name. Who is he?" She thought it was more than familiar but couldn't put a talon on it.

Ephraim's eyebrows rose. "Fet is the guy who shot you. He also voted against you staying."

Ah, that rather large bastard. She remembered clearly now. Ylva cared little to stash away these humans names. Perhaps that would be poor in the current predicament. It looked as though they'd be at least rallied together for an unforeseeable amount of time.

"Speaking of which, why aren't _you_ back there?" He pointed in the direction of the club, all fingers but his index curled around the glass.

She shrugged and offered no reply. In fact, Ylva did not have a cowardless answer to give the doctor. Yet again, she was running away from problems that needed to be resolved. Two centuries within a coffin buried under waves and waves of ocean did not change that horrid quirk in her personality.

"So we're the merry band of misfits then?" Dutch had returned in a less filthy attire and leaned her weight forward on the work bench. Her mood more relaxed.

"I can drink to that." Eph was nearly finished with the tall bottle of booze as he made himself another round.

"I do think you'd drink to just about anything." Ylva sneered.

Ephraim rose his beaker glass to her a mute cheer and threw it back.

* * *

By the gods, why couldn't this woman just listen and stay put for once in her life?

Quinlan was not shocked at Ylva's disappearance yet more hurt. After all this time of separation, she still did this to him. He understood her fears, as he once shared them, but no matter how many instances of him repeating again and again to her that she had no reason to fear such a thing from him, Ylva still fled.

The professor did notice they were down a Born but did not voice it. He merely walked along side Quinlan in contemplating silence. His mind formulating plans of their next move. His silence Quinlan was thankful for. He did not need useless questions for answers he did not truly possess.

Ylva had always acted this way. Her pathetic excuse for an upbringing was more than enough proof of that. Finally free to escape any harm that could befall her, she took it. She had run many times with that fear nipping on her heels.

She was a wild creature from the very flicker of her existence. The instinct to flee was nearly stronger than her urge to stand and fight; which won often depending if her temper had been ruffled. He grinned. Ylva was so easy to fluster if one knew what buttons to press.

They arrived to the top of the pent house where a very steaming Fet stood with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. Abraham took notice but headed for the book as always. Vasiliy would explain whether or not anyone cared to listen right at that moment. Quinlan detected a change in the air.

Dr. Goodweather was gone.

Lovely. They were down even more in their numbers.

"Where is the doctor?" He inquired.

"Kicked his ass to the curb. Fuckin' traitor," Fet scowled. His brown eyes skimmed over the area, also picking up a missing person.

Quinlan was almost surprised Fet cared enough to realize she was gone hence his animosity towards her. "Where's da the new half muncher?"

Quinlan frowned, shedding his his coat and hanging it on the rack. "Ephraim was not the only one kicked to the curb as you so put."

* * *

 

"Excuse you?" Ylva hissed at the doctor's out of the blue suggestion.

"What? It's for science." Eph shrugged, setting down his morning drink and slipping on fitting disposable gloves.

"Much good it's done you all so far." She motioned her head towards the chaos outside.

The doctor couldn't really argue that as tech and science had failed them so far in this deadly game for the city; hell, if this continued to grow in epic proportions, the world even. But that's why he needed Ylva's help.

"Look, it's just a little poke here and there, then you're done." His pitiful reasoning was on level with that of a child did little but annoy Ylva further.

The female Born bared her fangs at the human. "Touch me and I will snap you in half."

Eph gulped and backed a bit from the tense half- _strigoi_. Dutch had been viewing this spectacle from across the room with an amused grin on her face. She placed her beverage down and sauntered over.

"Lemme have a go at it, Eph." She fluttered her long lashes at Ephraim and the tactic worked in her favor.

Velders received her own pair of latex. Ylva lifted a skeptical brow at the blond's advance. She had not shied away from a woman's charms before but she was not budging from her refusal. The hacker grinned and lowered her eyes in an attempt to be alluring.

"Maybe she's more into nurses, doc." She fluttered her long lashes in a seductive manner. This was how she turned the tides to her control? Child's play.

Ylva leaned forward, their noses brushing. Dutch froze in her spot.

"What I prefer, Velders," Ylva traced a long talon across the bridge of her soft jaw. "Is others not seducing me into getting what they want from me." It was a hypocritical statement coming from her but it was true. Ylva never allowed one to hold that power over her.

Ephraim glanced between the two with a drunken hopeful expression. "Do you two need a room or can I...?"

"I'll pretend you're too deep in your booze to realize what just nearly came out of your mouth, Goodweather." Ylva hissed, not tearing her gaze from Dutch's fumbling expression.

Ylva then pushed Dutch a few feet from her person. "Don't hang sexual interest, whether it be real or not, over my head." She warned with a seething tone. No one would use her ever again.

Dutch licked her lips apprehensively and nodded. He pouted and placed the set back down to be forgotten. The three stood in uncertain silence for a pace until the doctor broke it with a cough. Both women glanced at him. "One exam, that's all I'm asking for."

Ylva shot him a incredulous glare. "Must I break something in your body for you to fully grasp that you will not touch me?"

Ephraim shrugged. "Quinlan let me."

Dutch swivled her head to the doctor with shocked interest while Ylva remained in doubt that the gladiator actually allowed Goodweather to examine him. He was very particular on keeping himself hidden and away from prying hands. After his years in the pit, Ylva wasn't certain he would ever let her simply hold his hand.

"Claim what you will, it is not happening." Ylva growled.

"Who's Quinlan? Is he like her?" Dutch asked. The doctor explained who the Born was but kept his answers vague.

"I mean, I was in the process of conducting it before you woke up and tried to suck me dry like juice box."

Ylva sneered at him, appalled. "I was _unconscious_."

"More like dead," He retorted, his brows raising above the rim of the glass.

"I missed a shit ton." Dutch breathed.

Clapping his hands, Eph stood and boldly approached Ylva. "Look, all I need to a quick once and over then I swear I will never bring it up again."

"Do you have a death wish? Why are you so persistent on this?" She hissed.

"No one may believe in me anymore but I have to find a way to save my son." He looked her straight in the eye. "And it starts by killing those things out there."

"You believe I can help you with that." Ylva stated more than questioned.

"If I can even get an ounce more in understanding their bio structure, I can find a way to eliminate them." The fog of the liquor had faded and Ylva could see deep down the man was resolved to this.

"Fine," She relented. "You have one hour."

Victory lit the man's dark eyes and he rushed to gather the materials.

* * *

The professor had gone to the restroom for the third time within four hours. Dusk had settled over the infected city and soon the minions of his father would emerge to continue their plight. His mind wandered off the copied pages in his pale hands to Ylva's well-being.

He sensed a mild hint of annoyance flare around two hours ago before evaporating completely. Other than that spike of unsurprising emotion, Quinlan hadn't felt anything more. She could handle herself against the Seventh's pawns, Ylva had saved him more than once, but the worry for her never ceased.

"What's with the frown?" Fet's voice broke his unfocused stare.

"I beg your pardon?" This was out of semi character for the large man, to show mild concern or interest for his person.

"You sighed kinda dramatically." He shrugged, whisking the half drunken bottle to his lips.

Sighed? Dramatically? What?? Quinlan blinked, careful with his inner eyelid. He didn't want to give anymore reasons for the exterminator to dislike him.

"I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about."

Fet rose his eyebrows in disbelief. "Sure sure, man, don't have the room to be seen as weak. I get it."

Quinlan ignored him. He didn't have the time to chit chat with a mortal who did not give a damn about him either way.

"Can't help it though," He continued. "Women are fickle creatures."

The Born slapped the papers onto the table's surface. "You know nothing of my troubles or Ylva, so keep her name out of your mouth if you are going to continue belittling her." He growled.

Fet half sneered. "Look man, I'm just tryin' to... I need someone to talk to."

Quinlan's face relaxed into mild shock. He what?

"Dutch's been on my mind lately." He explained with his hands, the bottle pointing aimlessly.

He had some information on this Dutch but was told she had been separated for some time now. He had no inkling that the two shared a history besides surviving together. Emotional attachments did form at rather odd and almost inconvenient times.

"What makes you believe I can help you?" Quinlan muttered, organizing the thrown sheets into a more orderly pile.

"Uh, I dunno, besides the fact you're like old as dirt," Fet scoffed, "You have something with that blood suckin'- Ylva." He corrected himself too late but Quinlan let it slide. "The doc wasn't the only absent from class. You've been sulkin' like your favorite toy got snatched."

Quinlan glared at his analogy. "Ylva is free to come and go as she pleases. I will not chain her where she has no wish to stay."

Both dhampirs had their fill of shackles throughout their lives. Yet, that had always been the issue. She could never stay rooted in a place for too long, or with someone.

"The way you got all up on my ass after I called her barbarian made me think you loved her or something." Fet scratched his goatee.

"Can I not just defend one of my kin without having such connections?"

"Oh yeah, sure, but also the way you went after her when she nearly drained Goodweather." He looked him in the eye. "I saw your face, man. Nobody has that expression if they don't really care about a person."

Quinlan shut his eyes. Damn it. He'd swore none them minus the professor had seen his reaction, however fleeting it had been. "What of it, Mr. Fet?"

"Like I said," He hiked up the bottle. "Been on my mind and just wanna get off my chest."

"Setrakian can surely help with you this." He growled.

"Eh, he just grumbles at me anymore."

The professor had become quite distant as the Lumen weighed on his mind and even soul. With Quinlan's failure to dispatch his father, the old man buried his nose more deeply in the pages. He may just as well get this over with. The dark haired man wouldn't leave him be until he did.

"We still have some daylight," He sighed, getting up from his seat.

"Sweet," Fet grinned.

The pair left the office room to venture into the oval like foyer that held the bar in it. It hadn't seen much use since Goodweather had departed after Ylva had woken. Fet set his jug on the polished counter, setting his large frame on the black and gold stool. The Born remained standing.

"You ain't gonna sit down?" The Ukrainian asked, a furry brow risen.

"I am fine, thank you." He didn't believe this would take long.

Fet shrugged. "Suit yourself,"

Awkward ticks of the clock passed before Quinlan couldn't stand it anymore. "You dragged me here to speak, so speak."

The big man let a shuddering sigh. Quinlan could smell the salt gathering in his tear ducts. Oh gods, please don't get emotional, he grimaced inwardly. He had distanced himself so far from humanity the past two hundred years, his ability to converse and withstand mortal reactions had become rusted.

"I fucked up." He started, throwing another back.

"That is quite visible, yes." Quinlan drawled.

He glared at the Born. "Thanks, I didn't ask for your shitty criticism."

Quinlan returned the narrowed gaze. "I also didn't ask to be a consultant to your pitiful mood."

Fet rolled his eyes and kind of agreed. He swirled the liquid inside the bottle round and round. "All she was tryin' to do was help her friend-girlfriend, whatever, and I had to act like a dick."

"But I didn't even know Nikki was her girlfriend girlfriend!" He defended himself. "Ain't nothin' wrong with that but, don't just beat around the bush about the relationship!"

Quinlan had his fair share of drama in his life. He had many women, and some men, fight over him. It was entertaining in his youth to see mortals behave over such silly things but it became irritating the older he became. Ylva did fight over him once. It ended badly. For them.

"This sounds so far to be Velders failure, not your own."

Communication was a grand key in the matters of the heart. While he did keep certain aspects of himself locked away, mostly for safety, Quinlan was mostly forward.

"Well, maybe," Fet shrugged. "But,"

The exterminator went into telling him of a mission that ended rather badly for Goodweather and Dutch. They were caught after the failed act and arrested. The hacker was separated from the doctor and taken to an abandoned hotel, a place where the right hand of his father dwelled.

The police had been paid off to deliver Velders to Eichorist, for true purposes unknown. Apparently, the woman was rescued from the snake in a state that had nothing to do with a simple choice of drink. However, this where everything began to fall apart, he explained.

"We saved her, I saved her, from that son of a bitch." Fet growled, chugging the drink in anger now. "I tried to help her, get her back on her feet. She was so broken, man."

Quinlan could imagine. His father picked his bishop wisely. That poor excuse for once a man could weasel his way out of anything. The Born hadn't the 'pleasure' to be acquainted with the scum but he had heard from the Ancients, that particular pawn was most crafty and vile.

The youngest chose him for a reason. Gods knew what mind games he had played on the hacker.

He listened more to the man's misery. "And I thought she was gonna be okay. She's a tough cracker. But," His wide shoulders drew down. "She-she fucking left, ran straight back to Nikki. Worst was I caught her tryin' to leave me a note." He chuckled humorlessly. "A damn note."

Quinlan rattled a sigh and closed his eyes. Ylva had done the very same, except there was no other; just headed anywhere from him and what could be. He understood this hurt.

"I don't believe Miss Velders was running from you." Quinlan replied. "It is human nature to turn towards familiarity. And also to part in fear of ruining what they value the most."

Fet looked up at the dhampir, not saying a word.

He continued. "Ylva has acted this way as well, but often when we became too comfortable."

Vasily pursed his lips. "What's _that_ got to with _this_?"

"What I am trying to say," Quinlan shot him a look as a parent would when the child interrupted them. "Is neither departed because they wanted to. Each are afraid of the same thing, what we both offer to them freely."

Fet blinked. "What?"

Quinlan refrained from pinching the bridge of his nose. Mortals and their loss of sense in the affects of spirits. Gods he didn't like admitting this out loud. "Love. You buffoon."

His eyes went wide as a light turned on his fuzzy mind. "Oh!"

"Their instincts warn them of tarnishing it, fearing that it will be taken; that putting themselves from it will save it. So, they merely decide that distance is the best option, even if it breaks the other; they still think the deserted is better off without them."

* * *

Ylva sat with her arms crossed over her bare chest on a cloth covered table Eph had cleared. She had no need to swing her legs or tap her nails against the wood as she waited for the doctor. That was a human trait of displaying anxiety. Ylva had nothing but disdain for this.

Dutch had busied herself on the laptop currently as Ylva had hissed at her already for peeking at her. She understood the curious nature in mortals but anyone else but Quinlan, and Goodweather now, seeing her scars made her furious. It felt as if they were judging her, pitying the state her body had been put under. She had no need for the senseless reactions.

It is what it is.

Eph came over with his pad and pen in a gloved hand, not looking at Ylva yet. "Okaaayy," He flipped the paper open. "Let's get the physical exam over with."

The doctor finally laid his gaze on her wound ridden form and balked. "Jesus Christ!"

"No gods had the stomach to witness my abuse apparently." Ylva scoffed, clutching her arms further into her chest. "Hurry up."

Eph nodded and asked that she put down her arms. Ylva rolled her eyes but obeyed. She heard Dutch suck in a breath. Ephraim swallowed at the numerous scars that littered her torso.

"Think that's bad, wait till you reach my back." Ylva spat.

"It's sad to say I can believe that." Goodweather sighed, reaching for his pen. "Patient... Dracula." He tapped the inky end on mouth. 

Ylva wanted to snap at him but refrained since it was all part of logging as he informed before hand. Ephraim jotted down notes from just his visual study. Two flipped pages later he broke open the flood gate to his questions, first of the wave dealing with the most obvious.

"I've noticed an increased healing rate between you and Q. How long does it take to fully recover from an injury?"

Ylva traced a long scar that ran in a jagged line above her left breast. "It depends on the severity of the wound. It could minutes to hours. I have broken my spine and it took roughly three weeks for the bone to meld back."

"Then why so many scars?" He whirled the tip of the pen in the general vicinity of her form.

"They will not heal if the process is repeated in the same place over and over. My... people made sure of that." He nodded, scribbling more notes.

"How long did it take for your body to grow? To reach full maturity?"

The dhampir thought back to the blotch of shadow she had been raised in. She had been able to reach to the locking mechanism to her cell if she rose on the tips of her feet when the moon had filtered through five full cycles. Men had always beaten her but their beastly hands touched her when the lock finally leveled with the bottoms of her curves.

"My body aged normally, like you and your children have. It was my mind that evolved much quicker." She said.

"Your age then?"

She rolled her shoulders. "Two thousand at the very most. Time flows differently to me."

Ylva was older than Quinlan by near four decades at least. She wasn't keen on measuring the days and nights in that hell hole where she was chained.

"Did you experience any pains while growing? If so, rate them from 1-10. Ten being the most unbearable."

That was a little more difficult to answer as her body never seemed to cease in aching. It was hard to tell if the pain came from her clan's unforgiving hands or the lengthening bones in her body. They were nothing she could not handle.

"I cannot say for sure. But the pain that had been dealt to me went far above a ten to you humans." She shrugged.

Eph continued to absorb and write. "All right, you said your mind developed faster than your body. Elaborate."

"I was aware in ways that should not be while in the womb of my mother. I felt her presence, knew this creature carried me within her. I knew that I would be born. The very first memory I have was minutes before I entered this world." She began.

"I felt it. Her pain exploded inside my tiny form. Then, I smelled the soaked earth around me. I smelled the fading scent of the mother. I also felt thirst. My second memory was of blood."

Ylva had latched onto the man would struck down her mother in fear of his soul. She had nearly killed the warrior but failed, thus enticing her birth early. Ylva drained the last of the warm blood in the fallen's veins.

"Okay, okay, interesting. I assume your mother passed due to your birthing?" He asked, brown eyes staring at her.

"My emergence did not kill her. She had been fatally wounded which lead to my coming. Although, how I arrived may have very well killed her if she had been whole."

She wouldn't expand on that detail right this moment despite Ephraim's attempts. Giving up, for now, he focused his attention on another matter.

"Right then, you know of human bodily functions. When you came of age, did you have a menstrual cycle?"

Ylva recalled her Amma speaking to her of such things when she was very small. The old woman was the mother to Esjborn but did not share the hate and apprehension he did towards her. She was superstitious of her being but didn't begrudge Ylva. Her sheltered early years died along with her.

"I do not have the proper organs for such an occurrence."

Outside, Ylva resembled a decent mix between mortal and _strigoi_ albeit more savage appearing but that's where it ended. Inside, her internal organs mirrored a _strigoi_ exactly. They had formed together in a whole singular machine that processed blood to the rest of her. Her womb and ovaries, along with any other womanly parts had molded into one.

"I've dissected a strigoi before, you mean everything is put into one mass system."

"Yes. I have no ability to bear children. I dislike them anyways." Ylva told him.

"Fair enough, let's see..." Eph flipped another page. "That being said... are you able to engage in sexual activity normally?"

Her nostril hiked in a sneer. "Come again?"

He whirled his hand around in a circle. "You know, are there any handicaps during intercourse?"

"I have a vagina if that's where you're getting at." She growled, pressing her thighs together firmly.

Goodweather shrugged and pointed to her private region with the pen. "You're not gonna let me look, are you?"

"If you want your hand broken, then by all means." She glared at him. "Your time is ticking, doctor."

"Subject change then!" Eph cleared his throat. "Onto feeding. Does your diet consist mainly of blood or can you digest some human foods?"

She sneered at him."My body can only ingest blood or any other liquid."

His brow rose. "Can you get drunk then?"

Ylva pursed her lips. "Possibly. I haven't consumed large enough amounts of it to confirm. I stray from mortals incensed by liquor or toxins."

"No spice to your food?" Dutch laughed.

"Afraid not, it just ruins the natural taste." She muttered, indifferent.

"Anyways," Ephraim shot a glare at Dutch for the interruption. " _Strigoi_ seem to have a preference to type B blood. Is this a trait among Born?"

"It smells more strongly, enticing the urge to hunt, but as for a personal favorite no." She said.

Goodweather mumbled to himself as his hand worked on the paper. "Good, good, hmmm, that's it for questioning right this second."

He set down the pad and re-adjusted his gloves. "Now the part everyone hates. I want to examine your stinger up close but not buried in my artery thanks." He said dryly.

Ylva put her palms up in indifference. "I don't bite on purpose." Eph sighed in relief. "Much." She smirked as he fumbled with the new gloves, almost dropping them.

Dutch snorted from her place behind the screen, her fingers tapping away in a furious manner at the plastic keys.

Ephraim approached Ylva tentatively, gazing flickering to his person and her smirking mouth.

"Oh get a move on!" She snapped, grasping his forearm and hauling him towards her. He nearly tripped in Ylva's powerful drag but remained standing, however balking at her.

Gulping Eph motioned her to open her mouth. She cracked her maw agape, much wider than a human's capability, successfully raising Ephraim's brows.

"Alrighty then," He dipped to peer into her mouth. "Your teeth appear normal minus the fact of the very ends are finely pointed in the front. They are sharp, I already experienced that." He grumbled.

The interior mirrored a human's cavity but the gums and flesh of her inner cheek was a lighter reddish pink. Her molars were thick but flat unlike her canines and front teeth. The tongue was thicker but seemed to be resting on top of something else.

"Put your tongue up, please." Eph instructed.

Ylva curled the flesh upwards, revealing the true intention for the tongue in Borns. It covered the stinger from any damaging factors: air and any harsh components in it, her own fangs, and invading object. The feeding organ was five times more sensitive than the average human tongue.

"There the nasty thing is," He mumbled, his hand going up and down in an indecisive gesture of whether or not to touch it.

Ylva made the call for him. The stinger shuddered and and churred. It lurched forward, out of her jaw and blooming fully inches from Goodweather's paled face. He had reeled back when he saw it move.

Dutch watched over her screen with wide eyes.

"Holy shit!" He yelped, leaning on the table behind him for support.

She chuckled, the sound muffled by the exposed stinger. Ylva couldn't resist the temptation to scare him. Velders snickered along side the dhampir once she realized Ephraim was no real harm.

"Think you're a god damn comedian, don't you?" Eph growled, straightening.

Ylva purred, very pleased with herself. He shook his bald head and continued his examination. Eph looked over the exterior and took note of the small two fangs located on the pronged mouth and the thicker fang in the middle used for drawing in the blood.

Sating his curiosity for the moment, Eph told her to retreat the organ. She eagerly obliged as it was getting heavy to hold out for a prolonged amount of time.

Once it was safely tucked away in her mouth, the doctor said, "Last thing is a blood and tissue sample, then we're all done."

It wasn't as bad as Ylva had originally believed. The process went smoothly for the most part until the skin sample Eph removed. He chose to pay her stunt back with taking a layer of flesh off her dusty grey nipple. The dhampir back handed the doctor with a surprised snarl.

Ephraim hit the floor, groaning. "What the fuck?"

* * *

"I feel I should leave her be." Quinlan murmured.

Fet blinked, the alcohol long spent. "It's up to you, man. I regret not fighting for Dutch but it's too late to go back now." He reached over the counter and deposited the empty bottle in the sink. "'Sides, your's doesn't seem the type to 'crawl back'."

Quinlan narrowed his eyes. "Ylva is not that weak willed."

The only reason she'd crawl would be if she was in horrible condition and really wished the offender dead. But, his face heated up, there had been a few settings where he did enjoy her _crawling_.

The exterminator grinned. "I saw dat! You can blush! Holy shit," He laughed.

Damn it all. "You will not relay this discovery. Do you understand?" Quinlan growled.

The big man continued his stupored chuckle. "Got'cha, crystal clear,"

"I mean it, Mr. Fet." He threatened.

Vasily breathed evenly as the laughter faded in the presence of his seriousness. His smile was bright among the dark hair that covered the lower part of his face. "No problem, secret is safe with me."

Quinlan folded his hands behind his back. "You've proven yourself far more trustworthy than the doctor so, I'll believe you."

"Thanks, Borno,"

His blue eye twitched ever so slightly. "Do. Not. Call. Me. That."

Fet put his hands up in surrender. "Easy easy, old habits die hard."

The two had clears the uneasy airs about them. The tension in the air about them less dense than where it had begun. It was not a comradery Quinlan had with Decimus, but it was something.

"Look," Fet went to a more humble mood. "If you two have been through that much, for this long, it's worth to go after, ain't it?"

Ylva had helped him countless of times in their stretch of existence, and he her. Each had the other's back when cornered. But she had deserted him more than once as well. The Norse dhampir made a poor habit of running from her problems rather than face them.

However, looking back over his conversation with Vasily, Quinlan could've helped more along the way then he did. They had their spats and tussles but each reaction was the same: Ylva merely left. By the time any form sense took hold, Ylva had gone astray. They were both young yet, in their early four hundredth year. Quinlan at that particular place in history wanted nothing more to do with her hotheadedness.

It took another few centuries for Quinlan to gather his wits and have true patience with her. Ylva was a person who ground on the nerves, her personality striking against most. Confliction always followed her wake. Yet by then, it was too late.

He had taken the Berber Woman for a mortal wife and honour bound himself to care of she and her daughter until their finite span on this planet ended. Quinlan had only seen Ylva once during those brief two years and after he had released them.

"I believe I've squandered every single opportunity." He muttered, skimming his fingers over his mouth in thought.

Ylva had felt distant since being freed of her prison. Quinlan hoped it was due to the years passing without her, grating on her mind, but it may not be the case.

"But you guys have made it through so much shit! You gotta try at least one more!" Fet urged.

"She came back, the chances one to none! And maybe she's just scared too." Fet slapped Quinlan on the back of his shoulder.

He shook it off. "I'll ask you don't do that again."

Quinlan had many things happen to him but rarely was his confidence shaken. Ylva was too adept at doing that. He carried so many regrets within him at this point. The trinket he had yet to return weighed heavily in his breast pocket.

Could he just add this to the pile and go on?

* * *

"That really smarts," Eph winced, rubbing his bruised and sore jaw.

"She did warn you a  bunch, love." Dutch was shocked the Born didn't break anything with the strike being in reflex.

Ephraim and Dutch walked side by side down the thinning city. Twilight was ending and soon the night would take over. It wasn't the most opportune chance to strike, but Ylva explained it would be easier to locate their targets instead of journeying below during the day; so much a step in the wrong direction could put them in grave danger.

So it was decided they wait for night to break and head out.

Eph glanced over his shoulder to the rooftops. A shadow jumped with ease from one building to the next. Ylva would survey from the high ground, warn them if a few _strigoi_ were nearby. Dutch's eyes were wide but focused on the ever growing darkness.

A few people scurried by them like the demons they so feared. The city no longer in a state of panic as there not many living citizens left to do so. The council woman was doing her best but now the hordes began to out number them. New York was almost entirely lost.

"I don't like this," Dutch whispered, keeping a hand on her hidden gun.

"What's to like? The city is shambles, human life here is deteriorating, and the only supposed hope to end it all is a damn vampire bible." Eph grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The hacker rolled her smokey eyes. "Religion at it's finest," She pouted next. "What if we get in over our heads?"

Goodweather sighed, the warm air expelling into the chill atmosphere in a puff. "We've got a badass psycho on our side, chances are pretty even."

An empty can fell from the sky onto the crown of Ephraim's head. He flinched, cursing as he wiped some left over drink that wet his baldness. An annoyed glare was fired up at the female Born who just waved.

Eph opened his arms wide in a motion of 'what the hell'. The distance between the she and the humans was great enough to make Ylva loudly retort so she gestured silently back with her middle finger and lept to the next establishment.

"I do like her though," Dutch laughed lightly.

The doctor didn't answer. He frowned and moved on as well.

Police sirens echoed in the deeper into the city, fewer than the last night. Eph had to do something and quickly! Zach was out here somewhere god damn it! Goodweather broke apart from Dutch and charged into the nearest ally way.

"Fucking hell!" Dutch scowled, drawing her fire arm and followed.

Ylva growled at the impatience the human doctor displayed but went in pursuit of the two. They were acquaintances of Quinlan and she would watch them. She bound from the rooftop onto the wet concrete and darted in the last visible place they were seen.

She felt her pupil expand as heat vision took over once she entered the shadow that engulfed the pair. Dutch was scolding the bald man who took no heed to her words. Instead, he went around and kicked every trash can and any other object that would echo. Eph hollered threats to The Master, calling him a coward, child stealer.

The Born kept silent.

She knew the doctor had a spawn and this pain may just prove useful. Dutch and Ephraim's voices combined would gain at least one wandering mindless. A blotch of warmth filtered into her peripheral sight.

Ylva glanced over her shoulder as a twitching figure sneaked around them. The _strigoi_ moving about her as Ylva's scent was a confusing one to them, smelling like a fellow then not. It hopped without noise to the fire escape and clambered the brick window sils.

She watched as the mindless moved somewhat gracefully. It was an older one, perhaps one of the first bands that had been plagued. It dug its thick middle talon into the wall for purchase and waited for one her humans to move. Definitely a more seasoned pawn.

This close now, Ylva could tell whether or the Seventh peered through its puppet's eyes. They were the rusty red colour like usual, not the flaming pits of an inferno that each Ancient signified speaking through their minions. It was just hunting for a blood meal.

"I get you want to save your bloody son but you can't just go off like this!" Dutch hissed, trying to keep her voice low.

Ephraim did not care on the other hand. "How do you know what I'm experiencing?! All you do is hop from lover to lover and not give a shit how it effects them!" His bolder statement reacted in the perched _strigoi_.

It growled and launched, stinger bursting forth from its thin lips. The hacker screamed for the doctor to duck when the creature took range in her eye.

Ylva waited longer on purpose to see how they would handle this. Velders was impressive. She aimed her weapon directly in Ephraim's face, causing the man to fumble but move quick enough. The gun rang as the bullet fired and pierced the pale skull. The _strigoi_ fell mid air to the unforgiving ground.

"What the hell?!" Ephraim yelled at the blond.

"What the hell?!?!" He pointed a finger to the dead mindless and then to Ylva in an accusing motion.

The dhampir shrugged. "I wanted to see how this would be handled. She didn't disappoint." Ylva nudged her scared head towards Dutch who beamed at the compliment.

"You would suffice as good bait though, doctor." Ylva quipped with a toothy grin.

"Fuck off,"

Dutch kicked the hand of the dead vampire with the tip of her boot. "I am a pretty good damn shot, aren't I?"

Goodweather shook his head. He wanted a live specimen to work on but a cadaver had it's perks too. "We need just one more, for now."

"Oh come on, I tagged and bagged one right here!" The woman whined.

"Fresh tissue give way to more details. I need a live _strigoi_." He argued. Mortals and their bickering.

"Fine," Ylva sighed, breathing through her stinger's valves.

"Huh?" The two twisted their bodies to face her in confusion.

Ylva tilt her neck back. Her stinger crawled forth from its hiding place and spread out fully inches from her mouth. The female Born released a high pitched scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D ?


	13. Shatter and Be Reborn

Ylva sat in the passenger seat with a disgruntled position. She had been nagged at for at least twenty minutes by the blond hacker about fetching new set of attire for them both. And snatching up some new tech, she added with a wink.

Dutch insisting the Born at least find something modern and fitting to wear. The dhampir still wore the clothes Quinlan had fetched for her. Ylva nodded at that assessment as the clothes were rather baggy on her lanky form.

Ephraim had not intervened in the woman's ploy and didn't raise his gaze from the micro scope as they left. The man was heavily incensed by his research and choice of drink this day.

She had managed to attract quite a few mindless with her call. Maybe a bit too many. After mowing down what Eph decided could be disposed of, the trio gathered up five _strigoi_ bodies and returned to Red Hook.

The dhampir clenched her teeth as Dutch drove the beaten yellow contraption she informed Ylva that was a vehicle used to transport humans to and from their destinations. She had enlightened her on said subject with a mouth full of candy named gum. Oh, how it irritated Ylva to her very core.

Her ears picked up on every pop and wet noise it made while Dutch's blunt teeth chewed on the gummy substance. Ylva furrowed her expression into one of distaste. What imbecile of a mortal invented such a sloppy, sticky, sugar smelling goop that only proved to be useful in raking on nerves?

Dutch, unaware of the vexing her candy caused her undead comrade, rolled the gum on her tongue and blew it into a small pink bubble then popping it. Ylva unfolded her arms and slapped her palms face down on the torn brown upholstery.

"Must you eat that?" She hissed, narrowing her mismatched orbs.

"I'm not _eating_ it. You just chew all the flavor out then toss it in the bin." The hacker shrugged.

Ylva slumped forward a bit. "It has no real purpose than mere flavor?" Disbelief crippled her joints to remain straight up.

"Pretty much," She chirped, fishing into her coat pocket to fetch more. "Wanna try one?"

The female half-breed glanced at the brightly decorated packet filled with tin-foiled wrapped sticks that reeked of sugar and false advertised ingredients. She sneered at the row of silver candies but reached for them.

In a blur of motion, the whole package was snatched from Dutch's trusting palm and thrown out of the window before the mortal driver could comprehend what had just occurred.

"Hey! Those were Fet's favorite!" She whined, looking back in the mirror glued to the top of the tinted windshield.

"It can be someone else's favorite now." Ylva growled, leaning back in her seat.

"Bitch," Dutch seethed under her breath.

" _Skirja_ ," She spat in her native tongue.

Her smokey eyes darted between Ylva and the trashed road. "Bloody hell does that mean?"

Ylva had no intention of answering the woman but a condescending smirk tweaked her lips. It would ruin the fun. If Dutch didn't gnaw on the sweet like the animal she referred her to, then Ylva would have no reason to insult as her such.

"Keep your eyes on the road." She muttered, looking out the window at the passing chaos the Seventh had plagued the city with.

"There's nothing on the road." Dutch pouted.

Red and amber eyes rolled. The woman may be grown in according to her years lived on this realm but she sure could revert to a child rather quickly. There was no real need to train the hacker's sight on the roadway as it was barren of bodies and traffic, but she didn't care to speak much more.

"Besides, why do you care? You'd just shake the damage off, eh?"

By Odin's beard, did this female ever cease in her chatting?

"True the only unfortunate thing about that is, I'd have to drag your carcass out of the wreckage. If I cared to. Plus, I haven't the faintest idea where I am." She bared her teeth at the hacker.

"Don't you have like, enhanced senses? Smelling your way back seems easy." She waved a finger-less glove in the air.

Of course she could. It was a very simple task to retrace her steps however Ylva held no wish to hear the doctor's bitching if she returned alone. He trusted her when Quinlan was involved and now that feeble trust had broken without his reassuring presence.

Ylva rattled. As if Quinlan could hold her back if she truly wanted to get at someone. Her temper was not something to be taken lightly once ignited. Many had fallen to provoking her ire.

"Or are you the type that can get lost in a paper bag?"

She looked at the blond dumbfounded. How could one get loose their bearings in a bag?? That was ludicrous!

Dutch failed to capture the snort that escaped her shell pink lips. "Go over your head that one?"

Ylva snarled lowly at her nerve. "I have been indisposed the last few hundred years. This modernized language is confounding."

She had heard a few snips from the young man who guarded the Ancients on the way down with the others. None of it made a whole lot of sense to the dhampir. It sounded like humans half-assed everything in these current times.

"Sorry, sorry," Dutch amended. "I forget you're out of time, like _Doctor Who._ "

"Doctor who?" Did she not remember the physician's name? And did she imply he could time travel?

"Yeah, _Doctor Who_. He uses this telephone booth and warps to different times and spaces." Dutch went further into her explanation, leaving Ylva mildly puzzled.

"We gotta catch you up, love." She smiled. "Maybe we'll find some seasons during our girl time."

"You kept using that term, _girl time_ , what does it mean?" Ylva frowned.

"It's a saying, meaning for women to go out with their friends; get some time to themselves." She explained.

Ylva sombered and returned gazing out the dirty window. Dutch frowned and leaned forward a bit to catch a glimpse of the half vampire. Velders swore a flicker of loneliness went across her scarred face.

"You don't have any friends, do ya?"

Halvor, her brother. Even Ancharia the meddling crone. A few other faces that had long since crumbled to dust. All but Quinlan died. And he didn't count among those Ylva called friends, the term hissed loosely in her mind. Quinlan was much different than all those put together.

"They are all dead." She growled.

* * *

"So, care to share about yourself?" Dutch asked as they walked along the deserted empty husks of shops.

"Do you?" Ylva bit back, not really wishing to discuss personal things.

She sucked her teeth. "Not much to tell. Born in London, had a Mum and Dad, grew up, became a hacker leaving chaos where ever I roamed."

Ylva knew this was a thin introduction as she could the hesitancy to reveal much and it proved there was pain and still was. She understood her fair share of pain.

The Born rattled a sigh when they passed a clothing store with a background of a snowy mountain for the figures. A grey maned wolf stood in the foliage of the trees. Its yellow gaze following her.

Wolves were an omen to her people. A glimpse of the creature meant impending blood shed, a battle was near. She dubbed her name due to her mimicking their very nature. Ylva had been called many things in her clan: _ulfhuguð_ , _ylfskyr_ , and the _völva_ in their clan told her father of the _felafæcne deor_ lurking in his shadow.

She prophesied Ylva would one day kill the king. The old one was not wrong.

"I was born in an unmarked territory," She began. "To a clan leader and his strong wife. A proud race of people your historians record as vikings. My people," Ylva spat, "Were a victorious group who lost few encounters."

Dutch gawked at her. "You were a bloody viking?!"

Ylva glared at her through the corner of her gaze. " _My people_ were. I was raised in a deep dark hole, within the belly of clan's ship; a prisoner with no chance of winning freedom. A weapon locked away only surfacing at the call of battle."

"I was the demon spoke of in songs at the feasts, in tales at the glow of bright fires. A creature of immeasurable strength that fell to no man's sword. A spawn of Hel herself that drank the forbidden elixir." Her scrunched her crafted brows.

"Did they even have a word for vampire?"

" _Draugr_ ," It rolled off her tongue. "It translates to again-walker. The only close definition for what I am."

Dutch attempted to pronounce it and successfully butchered the word. Ylva cringed at the slaying of her language.

"My bad," The hacker grinned trying to be cute.

"Indeed," Ylva mumbled.

The pair came to a divergence of paths and Ylva awaited Dutch's leadership. The blond tucked her bottom lip as her eyes scanned the tall and dimly lit map.

"Do ya have a preference?"

Ylva scoffed. "Clothes."

Dutch blew an annoyed puff of oxygen through her fallen bangs and jogged off towards a store that Ylva did not care to read the name. A bitten apple was above the entrance. She rose a confuddled brow. Why the half eaten image? Were the items only half as good as others?

The hacker had returned with two large bag crammed full of electronics and a large smile on her face. Apparently that was not the case. She explained all that she had snagged but Ylva did not follow most of it. Technology was a vast thing it seemed and the Born had little care for it at the current time.

Another store presented itself. The name shattered and broken off in places. Dutch set the goodies behind the pillar to have room for the clothing. Rows and rows of various attire stood before the two women. Velders clapped her mitten hands and dove in.

The Born, on the other hand, simply stared.

She did not know of these fashions or where to even begin. There was a huge selection of cuts and colours but the dhampir was not moved to partake the hacker in her looting. Ylva stood there confounded. The human glanced up from her pursing. "

Are ya just gonna stand there?"

Ylva glared. "I am merely overseeing if there is anything of worth before I waste time."

Dutch rose a carefully knit brow. "Uh huh, if your taste is more... fancy, we can head else where."

The Born frowned at the woman's words. Ylva had a depth of funds to spend thanks to her long span of life but never regarded herself above others over currency. She may be a cruel bitch of nature yet that greedy human trait had been snuffed out.

Did she enjoy stealing? Of course, it was thrilling and provided a distraction. No one could ever catch her and it only added to the fun of it.

"I assure you my taste is no more refined than your own." She glowered, joining Dutch now in spite.

Velders grinned. The two searched through the numerous racks in sweet silence for a brief period until Ylva guessed the hacker could no longer contain her bubbling curiosity. She feel build from rows away.

"Ask before you burst." Ylva growled.

"Am I seriously that obvious?" Dutch questioned, believing her poker face was better than that.

"Born are sensitive to emotions, just like our undead kin. We pick up empathy. I can feel whatever is brewing inside you, pour off your skin." She informed.

"Fuckin' sweet," Dutch breathed.

Ylva waved her hand in an anxious manner to rid Velders of her inquisition. "Go on then,"

Dutch pursed her pink lips as she mindlessly weaved through the clothes. "You mentioned parents... what were they like?"

Ylva's nostrils flared as her jaw set. "I had no parents as you think them as. I came from a decaying cradle of flesh and returned to an owner. Nothing more."

She flicked her gaze down. "Sorry, mate,"

"What of your paternal figures then?" Ylva retorted, firing the intrusive question back.

"I had'em..." She grumbled, fingers lingered on a dark green shirt. "We moved when I real small. Dad got an offer here to work at the local phone company. Heehee, Dad was too smart, too curious for it to last." She grinned fondly at the memory of the man.

"Eventually, he moved to Cyber-Security. It got him even more interested. He used to take me to conventions about hacking and the faceless enemy behind it. But my Dad told me a secret." Dutch whispered then. "Hackers were not the foe. They were scholars of curiosity and freedom."

Ylva frowned. She did not understand some of this but Dutch seemed to be on a roll.

"So after he died, I took up that mantle. For a price," She winked.

"That's noble of you," Ylva murmured, passing each article with a sneer. They were all so ugly and very much alike.

"What of your bearer then?"

Velders rose a brow. "Huh?"

"Your mother," She growled.

Her expression dimmed. "She didn't take it so well. She like, _faded_. I didn't want to end up like that." Her eyes darkened with a purpose. "I bolted after some new guy showed up and revived her. I went out and fucking _lived_."

Those days were tough. Jumping house to house, sleeping under a bridge some nights. She got in trouble with The Man, sure. Under aged this and that, but they never caught her. Dutch always was a step ahead. Eventually she gathered a trustworthy group and made a damn good living off breaking through layers and layers of coding. Then, Nikki came along...

"This shit is partly my fault too." She admitted, pushing those painful memories away.

"The rise?" Ylva selected a half decent looking blouse. Why was everything so form fitting?

"If that's what you wanna call it." Dutch noticed her choice and made a gagging noise.

Ylva looked to her perplexed. "What the Hel is your problem?"

The blond told her unwanted opinion of the shirt and Ylva simply tossed the damned thing. She truly didn't like it anyways. She merely picked it to be done. They moved on to another section and it seemed more promising. These were long sleeved items and it served her needs far better.

"You get cold?" Dutch asked, as Ylva snatched a blood red sweater off the rack and slug it over her shoulder.

"I can but it has to be extreme and even then, it is only annoying and less life threatening." She swiped a black wool Peacoat with a hood off the display. "The light still effects me."

"The sun can kill you?"

"If I allow it." She didn't explain further. The light burned her skin yes, but it did not instantly set it ablaze like regular _strigoi_.

"Sooo," She glanced at Ylva with a curious glint. "What about your Mum then?"

Gods why? Why couldn't she leave it instead of kicking the dead dog?

"My bearer lost her life to sword and ax being that she was sent far from the camp thanks to her infection, _thanks to me_. I split her belly wide as I crawled from her corpse."

Velders eyed her sharp and dark talons that irritatingly tapped the rack with a gulp.

"Damn,"

It was a dense silence between two afterwards. Neither uttered another word or sound as Dutch continued to dig. Ylva had found what she thought adequate and just went wandering about in the aisle. She cared little for this shopping. Once she had a tailor who customized her style, which rarely changed, and personally delivered it. The need to have a different outfits for everything little occasion was boggling to her.

"Who's Quinlan?" It was a meek tone and Dutch was prepared to be given the cold shoulder.

Ylva sighed. She had no reason to reply as she was positive they'd all meet soon and felt no cause to reveal anything about him. She simply put, "He is like me." And ceased.

The curiosity buzzed in the air around Dutch like hornets. Stupidly, but brave, she pressed on. "Eph told me a little about him... and you last night."

The Born froze. The skin between her shoulder blades hunched. Intoxicated bastard! "And what exactly did he tell you?"

"Not a whole lot except you two have known each other for a long time annddd, you guys are an item." She shrugged.

Ylva scrunched her brow. "Item?"

"Yeah ya know, like a package deal, _married_."

She felt as if all oxygen in her lungs had been expelled. Wife, such an honorable title that did not belong to her. She had accepted him, more so towards the end but she could never be that. That had been given to another, more deserving than her.

"Which is kinda sweet, being together that long I guess. I'll probably never know that now. I fucked that up as well, ruining any possibility of getting in that white and fluffy dress and walking down the aisle to that lame tune." She chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh well, I don't have a love or family to even think about that kinda stuff now."

Ylva caught bits of what Dutch was saying through the ringing in her ears. Her lungs still felt dry and closed. She was drowning in the shocking waves of even thinking Quinlan had called her that throughout this time. _Wife. Mate._

**Never.**

Dutch went prattling on without realizing the Born's inner turmoil. "I felt I was gonna ruin him, ya know? Fet's so good and caring and so," Her voice cracked a little. "I can't destroy that."

Those words hit a cord in Ylva. She whirled on the woman then, fangs bared with a wicked snarl. "THEN WHY TAKE ADVANTAGE OF HIM THEN?!"

The hacker startled at the animosity. "Say what?!"

"I felt his sorrow when I met him. It comes off him in droves. The damage you tried to avoid is already done! If you could see that nature before, why bother if that was your intention?!" She growled.

"Don't talk to me like you fucking know what happened!" Dutch yelled back.

"I know exactly what happened! You crossed paths by chance-by this plague, and something clicked. Something inside you reached out and held on. But you knew, you knew it would ruin him!" Ylva screamed now. The Born wasn't seeing Dutch anymore.

"But your nature did not care. It only wanted! It only wanted to devour him as they had done to you!" The Brit's features clouded over and image warped into a pale willowy figure. " _Shatter_ them as they had done to you!" White blood dripped and dripped onto the floor through the shackles that stitched themselves into the flesh. Ylva's scars burned now with the flare of emotion that spiked in her.

Dutch had scratched at the crack in the dam that held her feelings at bay and the Born feared it may just collapse. "Shut up!" Velders screamed back. "You weren't there! You don't get to judge me-"

She dashed to the hacker and slammed her against the fitting room wall with a strength far more than an average human. Dutch was speechless as the air was pushed out of her due to the pressure Ylva exuded. The Born's bony fingers curled in the cusp of her tank-top and held her in place against the wood.

This was the exact reason Ylva swallowed her emotions. When she voiced them, her control crumbled. The mortal was definitely have bruises in the morning if she had not fractured something. She endured the toxin flowing in her body for resilience, for utter control; but was she kidding? It paled greatly compared to Quinlan's.

"YOU DO NOT GET TO DISCARD HIM LIKE AN OUT-GROWN TOY!" She hollered, salt gathering at the corners of her eyes. It stung bitterly. "HE PUT UP WITH SO MUCH FROM YOU AND YOU JUST THROW IT ALL AWAY!" Her sub-harmonics were easily detectable now as she screeched.

"After all these centuries," Ylva rattled. "You are still-"

Dutch's eyes widened considerably. The half-human and half- _strigoi_ terrified her more so now with the show of power that did not belong to the normal person. But even in this overpowering hold, she could see a woman deep down that was suffering and struggling with all this self hate and blame.

"You weren't yelling at me, were ya love?" She wondered, her own voice choked with the pressure of her strength.

Ylva dropped the mortal as if she were made of pure silver. "I-I'm sorry." She swallowed thickly. Her stinger wrung in her chest. "I should not have..."

The twitches surfaced. They were violent and unable to be suppressed at this flux of raw emotion.

"Whoah, whoah, chill out," She rubbed her collarbone with a wince. "We're good, just chill out."

Dutch was definitely going to tread lightly around her now. Ylva went off like a firecracker if the right amount of heat was added. Her unrivaled strength freaked the hacker out a bit as well.

"Look, I obviously pressed buttons I shouldn't have." Dutch tried to reassure.

"Regardless," Ylva retreated. "I should not have lashed out like that."

"Hey, pinning up all that for God knows how long, tends to make one snap." She said. Ylva offered no reply.

She desperately fought to stop the spassing of her limbs. She had control. She had her own mind. She was not mindless! A viscous swing flew out and struck a nearby mannequin, sending it sailing across the large store.

Dutch flinched and kept her head lowered in case of anymore flying objects. Peeking through her bangs, she saw the Born had cooled down some.

"Don't break anything, yeah? They may charge us for it." She attempted humor but it did nothing to the dhampir.

"Hey," Dutch said quietly, "Go change into those and breathe, okay?"

The half-breed did not look the human in the eye as she dashed to the tall square room. The cheap wood door closed and it left her alone with all this raging disorder. She quickly threw off the unfitting clothes to the tile floor and switched into those she chose.

Ylva stood before the mirror not really taking in the outfit Dutch swore made her look dashing, as she phrased it. These clothes did not truly wash away the filthy hands that touched her, hide the scars that riddled her flesh, nor bury the atrocious deeds she committed. Pale fingers cracked and curled into trembling fist.

They did not change the fact of her unholy being. Her mental locks shattered. That fragile and barely living mortal speck shoved deep into the dark corners of her mind made a peep. Ylva's lungs seized.

**Monstrous.**

The dhampir crumbled under the pressuring waves of self hatred, disgust, and sorrow. Her lungs felt tight and shut, even as her maw was open wide to release the high pitched scream. She did not hear the broken howl that escaped her fangs even as Dutch scurried back to her, kneeling beside her; saying something muffled over and over.

It would attract every mindless in range from the sheer volume of it. Yet that did not cease the freed horrors that Ylva caged within herself. She was vaguely aware of collapsing into the rattled human's embrace. Her pride cared little.

But damn her. _Damn her_ for releasing these unspeakables. They should have never been given form. Her _strigoi_ half reeled, hissing and snarling at her defeat. This was weakness and weak things were not permitted. But Ylva could not stop.

Her sobbing increased as her chest felt it would burst with the raw emotions that churned inside like raging waves, clashing and dragging into the depths to drown her. Ylva felt suffocated as her breath escaped into cries throughout the place.

She had lost to the onslaught of waves before but it had felt like an joyous occasion compared to this. Ylva believed she was losing her grasp, falling and falling into a dark void that threatened to swallow her whole.

The Born's heart hammered and hammered until she was sure it burst from her ribs and combust. She had been out of control before but this was absolutely unbridled and unwavering. Ylva cried out as fear seeped into her shattering. Her long legs lay sprawled out before her as Dutch cradled the broken half-breed. Ylva grasped onto the human's arms with every fiber of her being as if she would be washed away. Red and gold eyes glassed over as droplets formed in them, clouding her vision.

**Why. Why. Why. Why. Why?!?!**

Salt burned her nose as the tears fell. The walls of the room felt as if they were inching closer and closer. Her mind was in shambles and instinct took the wheel. She became less apprehensive and more antsy. Ylva appeared to be calm on the outside but inwardly, she had only reached the eye of this storm. Her instinct whispered to her now and she did what Ylva did best.

**Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run! Run!**

Ylva broke free from the human's grasp that meant to console and fled. Everything rushed past in a blur of colours. She tripped over a remnant of a bench, so deep in desperation to escape. Her fast reflexes stopped her fall before she was half way to the ground. Velders had been yelling and running after her but Ylva paid no heed. She had to get the fuck out of here!

The bringing up the human man Dutch had once coupled with unearthed far too many painful memories. Too many times had she treated Quinlan the same because of this incurable fear of dragging him down further than he already was. That phobia of being shackled to a single person, a single place like a prisoner. Ylva rationally knew better but the first years on her earth would not abide such thoughts, such ideas.

She dangled those fragile yet strong emotions Quinlan held for her in his face. She had abandoned him so many times! Ylva had left him in Rome, to the mercy of those awful pits. Deserted him when the Ancients, one which was her maker, came to him that night. Utterly ignored him after the Berber Woman was discovered that evening of wicked horrors.

He was not deserving of such cruelty. He deserved so much better than a trickster like she. Ylva left him every time, scared she would tarnish him somehow. But despite that, the female Born slowed a fraction as the crisp smokey air hit her face, he still embraced her every time she returned.

Her steps staggered as the mind and heart came to terms with itself. She leaned on the vehicle they drove in, her fingers piercing the hood. Dutch finally brought up the rear, nearly falling with all she had taken from the strip mall.

"You're too fuckin' fast, ya know that?!" She panted, dropping the carriers to the concrete. No words came from Ylva's split mouth other than pathetic sounds of a high pitched whine from her stinger rattling with sobs. The hacker was at her side in seconds, looking under the crook of her elbow with concerned eyes. Ylva felt the sympathy rolled off her.

"Look, I think you hold yourself a little too high. I get it. You're a bloody badass who take on probably this whole infection by yourself, but that doesn't mean you have to be a hardass on the inside." She spoke gently.

"You've been abused." Dutch's eyes glassed over. "I can tell. It sucks, it really fuckin' does. But that doesn't mean every one close to you will take advantage of you. Mr. Quinlan hasn't, has he?" She already knew the answer but needed to make Ylva confirm it aloud.

"No," She rattled, her grip tightening on the roof. "But I have done so to him."

She rolled her lips. "We're not so different then, are we?"

Ylva glared daggers at the mortal. "Err, well, whatever," She went on. "What I mean is, you got a new start. Why not one more chance?"

* * *

Quinlan vaulted out of the truck before Fet had properly put it to a complete stop. He had Ylva's outburst earlier but had been tangled up in matters that could not be left unattended. His mouth was set in a deep frown as worry coloured his features.

He had never felt so much devastation from her before. What could have possibly happened? Her mind had been entirely open for him to investigate mentally but it was an erratic mess when he only glimpsed, hardly able to be deciphered so many flashes of past events speeding throughout.

Fet suggested once the job was taken care of, he'd take Quinlan along since he was visiting the old place where Goodweather now resided in. The large did not have to ask twice. Neither the exterminator or professor had witnessed the speed or impatience the Born displayed before.

The dhampir was inside while Fet hollered behind him as he parked the vehicle. He paused when the mutilated corpses of _strigoi_ lay strewn about on metal tables. Ephraim stood amongst them, writing away on a notepad, not sensing his arrival.

A screech from the back halted Quinlan's announcement. The doctor did not even glance up at the noise. His hand went immediately went to his blade but a familiar growl echoed from the source. A English accent jabbered on about doing that on purpose.

Ylva emerged from the background with a dead strigoi in tow.

" _Bob_ , outsmarted Dutch. It opened the locks." She informed Goodweather, tossing the body onto the empty table.

"Seriously?" He gaped, suddenly interested in the dead.

She noticed him of course and shyly kept her gaze locked to the ground. Quinlan rumbled at her odd behavior, placing his hand back at his side. Ylva was never shy.

"I did not kill for fun, Goodweather." She spat. "We have a guest." Ylva nudged her head towards him.

The doctor spun on his heel just as Fet stumbled in. "Vhat the fuck is dis? You turned my god damn apartment into a horror house!" He exclaimed, motioning to all six dead _strigoi_ littering the space in his previous home.

A blond haired woman came from where Ylva entered and stopped once she looked up, seeing Fet. Her sour expression fell to a flat and neutral face. Ah, this was the one who Vasily was speaking of earlier. Quinlan smelled Goodweather on her. Perhaps this could not be salvaged.

The three mortals began to speak to each other, their voices fading out into a muffled background noise. Quinlan only had attention for one. He tried to meet her eyes but each time, she turned to a different direction. Her mental confinement had returned ten fold and he could not begin to fathom what was the matter.

Carefully making his way across the room Quinlan watched her and she his every move. Those yellow and red eyes trained on his form the closer he became. The hacker perceived this and diverted her concentration. Ylva had retreated a bit, hitting the steel wire that served as a wall.

He ceased movement. She glanced up at him when his steps were no more. Taking that as permission, Quinlan advanced until both the dhampirs were mere inches apart. He could not smell any injury on her person or detect one otherwise. She crossed her arms over her torso under his scrutiny.

"Are you all right?" He asked. His voice levels lower than the human ear could hear.

"I'm fine," Ylva responded, tucking her bottom lip.

These signs of anxiety were very peculiar for her. He furrowed his brow. Something must have unhinged her even it was only slightly. The need to help her was not relenting, especially right now. Quinlan brushed his gloved fingers over her bare knuckles.

"I felt you earlier. I have never felt such fear and resentment from you. Tell me, what happened?" He implored.

The Born raised her eyes but did not look at him but the British woman. She glanced over her shoulder and gave a curt nod. Quinlan blinked. Was she asking permission to discuss this? Or was he imaging it?

"Can we go...?" Ylva asked, unfolding her defensive stature.

He nodded. She disappeared again and returned in a handful of moments. Not peering at the conversing humans again, Ylva pasted him and waited at the door. Another bizarre action. Stashing that away for later, Quinlan joined her. The male Born opened the door and led her out. He failed to notice the thumbs up Velders gave Ylva upon her departure.

She walked beside him but an arm's length between them. Quinlan was thrilled to be at least near her presence again even if it was off. Ylva was awful at sharing her troubles and this may take awhile. He didn't mind. It afforded him more time on what to say.

They walked on in pure silence a few blocks. Ylva kept the distance but looked at him every once in a while as they walked. It would be dangerous to go much further with his father being very well alive to his vexation.

"Ylva..." He started but stopped as he saw she had fallen behind.

Quinlan turned back, wondering why she had not gone along. She was staring at something with a curious quirk of her lips. He followed her sight and discovered a black 2017 Chevrolet Corvet parked beneath an overpass. It appeared to be left behind with the amount of dust, grime, and blood covering the sports car.

Pity.

"What is that?" Ylva asked, tilting her head to the side.

"You've seen a motorized vehicle. It's a more glamorous model." Quinlan said. He knew of the type of car. He enjoyed the new toys of this age. Especially the fast ones.

"Can you drive?" Ylva grinned slyly now. Her eyes bright with fascination and excitement.

Quinlan smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skirja- cow
> 
> ulfhuguð- a wolf's mind/cruel
> 
> ylfskyr- wolfish/dangerous
> 
> völva- priestess/shaman


End file.
